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ROMANCES 

OF 

NEW ORLEANS. 


BY GEO. AUGUSTIN. 


Second Edition. 

















■ 







* • 






f*. vr 




ROMANCES 



NEW ORLEANS. 

by geo. Augustin. 


AUTHOR OF— 



“ Love and Death” u Her Punishment" and other Stones. 


Though this transient world may mould, 

As the countless ages roll, 

What one seeks from man to hold 
Will he struggle to control. 

— The Fleeting Ideal. 



% . 


P 2 3 

•A^ -2VR'sl 


Entered according to Act ol Congress, in the Year 1S91 

BY GEORGE AUGUSTIN, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVE!}. 


TO 


THAT GRACEFUL SOUTHERN WRITER AND 
GIFTED SCHOLAR. 

MRS. VIRGINIA DIMITRY RUTH, 


FHIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 


X 



PREFACE 


The invariable rule of the general reader is to skip 
prefaces, but an author’s immemorial habit being to 
write them, I feel myself called upon for an explan- 
ation. I will do so briefly atfd simply. I only wish 
to thank those who have kindly helped me in this 
undertaking. Being a New Orleans boy, substantial 
encouragement was generally tendered, assuring 
success. 

A few of the poems and romances herein have 
already been published under my name in various 
periodicals. With but slight changes, I reproduce 
them as they originally appeared. 

“ Yetta, the Nun,” has never been in print before. 
It is 

“ A tale of sorrow treasured, 

Too fondly to depart; 

Of wrong from Love the Flatterer, 

» And my own wayward heart,” 

and has taken me four years to complete. It has 
been revised, altered and condensed more times than 
I can tell, and it is with mingled feelings of regret 
and reluctance that I now part with this favorite 
child of my fancy. Perchance some critical reader 
will begrudge me for having weaned it so soon ? 

G. A. 


New Orleans, March 16 , 1891. 




































































• • 



















* 
















CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

Yetta, the Nun 9 

Lulette 83 

Irreconcilable 101 

The Creole Flower Girl 119 

The Strangler of Congo Square 145 

Iyala, The Dancer 167 

The Death-Angei 185 

Smiles and Tears (Poems) 197 

Pardonable Curiosity 199 

The Angry Pessimist 200 

, My Sweet Lulette 201 

The Girl-Suicide 203 

Estranged 204 

Baby 205 

Tin-a-feex 206 

The Fleeting Ideal 20S 

























YETTA, THE NUN, 

A FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY Gf OLD 


NEW ORLEANS. 



YETTA, THE NUN. 


CHAPTER I. 


Rise, O tide of my heart, to her beautiful eyes, 
On the billows of Fate, like the sea to the skies. 


About the year 1763, Dr. Carlos Alvez, a 
graduate of the Madrid School of Medicine, 
left his native country and settled in New 
Orleans. He was young, intelligent and am- 
bitious and soon controlled a numerous practice. 
In a few years he amassed a snug fortune, 
which he invested in town lots. Toward the 
end of the last century he established a drug 
store at the corner of Esplanade avenue and 
Rampart street and did a thriving business. 

Among the throngs which daily pass the lo- 
cality, on their way to the business sections of 
the city, probably not one ever heard of the 
quaint little structure known as Pharmacie 
Alvez.” It was destroyed by fire in 1836. A 
one-story frame house, at present used as a 


12 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


fruit stand and grocery combined, has oblit- 
erated all signs of the old landmark. 

Dr. Alvez prospered wonderfully. He grad- 
ually acquired possession of the land adjoining 
his original purchase, until Ids estate included 
all that tract now comprised within Esplanade 
avenue, Burgundy, St. Anthony and St. Claude 
streets. 

In 1802 Dr. Alvez married Miss Pepita 
Delric, daughter of a college-mate of his 
father, who, like him, had made Louisiana 
his home. A son (Louis) blessed this union. 
From his infancy this young gentleman was 
schooled to familiarize himself with the pro- 
fession which had been followed by his paternal 
ancestors from time immemorial. Dr. Alvez’s 
ambition was that his offspring should begin as 
early as possible to assist him in ministering to 
the ills of his numerous clientele and tradition 
says he began “talking shop” to him on the 
very day he had his first look at the world. In 
after years, when young Louis had mastered 
the alphabet and could read words of one 
or two syllables, the first book of any conse- 
quence he had to struggle with, was a medical 
one. His father would take him on his knee 


YETTA, TIIE NUN. 


13 


and expound things which made the toddler open 
his eyes to their widest capacity and cross- 
examine his instructor as only a child can. 
But the Doctor bore this catechism with forti- 
tude and cheerfully explained eve^thing. 

Dr. Alvez’s father-in-law had only two chil- 
dren— Pepita and Charles. The latter married 
a Creole girl a few years after the Doctor’s in- 
road into the family and a daughter, Yetta, was 
born to him. 

From the day Louis was allowed to take a 
peep at his new cousin, he evinced a strong in- 
terest in her. As time went by and the young- 
lady began to understand what transpired about 
her, she reciprocated his affection and the two 
romped and played together, as happy as mortals 
could be. Very often, when evening came and 
their nurses would coax them to stop their gam- 
bols and retire peaceably to bed, they would 
cryingly protest against such an arbitrary pro- 
cedure and force had to be employed to sepa- 
rate them. 

At twelve years of age, Yetta was bundled 
off to a convent. Louis was two years her senior, 
and had attained an age at which most boys 
consider themselves full-grown men, but this 


14 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


did not deter him from sobbing like a baby 
when he received a scrawlv, tear-bedewed note 
from his little sweetheart a few days afterward, 
in which she said she still thought as much of 
him and had cried every night since their separa- 
tion. 

Yetta remained absent seven years. During 
that period, Louis had news of her only 
through her parents, as the nuns abhorred men, 
and spirited away any communication addressed 
to their wards. This is why Yetta never re- 
ceived the lurid answer Louis penned her. 

A few now living may recall the peculiar, 
semi-octagonal building which vears ago stood 
in the pentagon formed by Bourbon, Dauphine, 
Union, Royal and Peace streets. This was 
St. Veronica Convent. It was the first large 
dwelling constructed in Louisiana, and was for 
a long time an object of wondering admiration. 
It was torn down and its site subdivided into 
lots about forty years ago. 

But the curiously inclined were not permitted 
to inspect this quaint structure very minutely. 
The nuns waged incessant war against in- 
truders. The grounds were surrounded by 
a high stone wall, topped with broken glass, 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


15 


etc., and traps were hidden in the most 
out-of-the-way places within the shadow of the 
wall. There were large signs at each angle of 
the wall, on which was conspicuously painted: 


NO BOYS OR MEN 
ALLOWED ON THESE PREMISES. 


Fearful stories were told of the fate of boys 
who had had the temerity to disregard this pro- 
hibition. There was a tradition, often whis- 
pered at the fireside with shuddering dread, that 
the nuns’ favorite mode of punishment was to 
tie them by the feet to one end of a short rope, 
at whose other extremity a wildcat or panther 
was attached. The whole thing was then thrown 
over the limb of a tree reserved expressly for 
such exhibitions and the venturesome youth was 
never seen or heard of afterward. Other grue- 
some modes of punishment were vouched for, 
but this particular one had a more deterrent ef- 
fect upon predatory urchins than any other. 

This explains why, although living but a few 
squares from the convent, Louis never saw' his 
child-love during the seven years she was away. 


16 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Years went by. Spurred by his ambitious 
father Louis studied zealously, and at twenty- 
one graduated with high honors. Of course 
Dr. Alvez could not allow such an event to pass 
quietly by. He gave a grand ball in his son’s 
honor, to which all the youth and beauty of 
fashionable New Orleans were invited. 

On the morning of the day selected for the 
ball, Yetta returned from convent. Louis was 
amazed at the change time had operated in her, 
and wondered what mysterious agency could 
have metamorphosed her into such a beautiful 
woman. Up to that day he had never been 
seriously in love. He had but a vague idea of 
what this dangerous passion really was, and 
little dreamed what momentous changes it could 
work in the life of a man. He thought that 
women were created simply to amuse us, and 
the idea of manacling himself for life to one of 
these effervescent beings never entered his mind. 
As he contemplated Yetta on the night of the 
ball, all his pet theories were forgotten. He 
pictured to himsek' what bliss it would be -to 
pass one’s entire life near her, a slave to her 
every wish. Memories of the past, dormant for 
years, whirled through his mind. He imagined 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


17 


himself walking hand in hand with his child 
love through his father’s park, happy, innocent, 
thinking only of frolicking about. Could her 
heart still be beating for him, or had the advent 
of womanhood banished the past from her mind ? 
He felt bewildered, fascinated, and would have 
parted with the dearest treasures of earth to be 
left alone with her for a single moment, that he 
might implore her to unbind the fetters she had 
gyved around his heart years ago. 

Having been immured for seven dreary years 
in an institution where even to mention a mas- 
culine name evoked a frowning rebuke, Yetta 
naturally had an unconquerable horror of the 
dance. It was only after much coaxing that she 
consented to remain in the parlor; and being a 
woman of tact and education, she took pains to 
make herself agreeable. 

Louis spent much of his time beside his 
cousin. Not to appear too boorish, he was com- 
pelled to be amiable with all; but whenever he 
could escape, he would seek Yetta. 

“Your guests will think you very uncivil,” 
said the latter, as Louis approached her and 
asked the privilege of a promenade. “You are 
too often near me.” 

2 


18 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“I have the reputation of being a desperate 
flirt,” Louis observed; “this will shield me from 
censure.” 

Yetta laughed softly and accepted his prof- 
fered arm. 

They were now in the garden. It was the 
first time the cousins had a chance to be alone, 
and Louis resolved to know his fate. He began 
by talking of the past, and asked Yetta if she 
recalled the delightful times they had together. 
To his surprise she seemed displeased, and pet- 
ulantly said : 

“Let us leave our childhood days alone, I 
entreat you. I have been so long away from 
the world that I want to hear of 'present happen- 
ings.” 

Louis tried to conquer this whim, but seeing 
he only succeeded in getting Yetta angry, con- 
cluded he would have plenty of time to make 
her talk the ensuing days and turned the con- 
versation into other channels. 

The rest of the evening seemed like a dream 
to the young doctor. He felt he had at last met 
his Waterloo; that women were not created 
simply to amuse us, but to sway our souls with 
their gentleness and fascinating sweetness. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

“ I’ll obey you, though ’t is plain 
You are jesting with my pain.” 


For a week after Yetta’s arrival, Louis saw 
her only at meals, as his father kept him clos- 
eted all day in his laboratory, instructing him 
how to compound innumerable chemical com- 
positions and making him delve into almost in- 
terminable volumes to more fully illustrate his 
teachings. 

When the young man was at last liberated, 
he felt overjoyed and roamed all about the 
house in search of his ideal. He thought how 
glad she would be to have a few hours of un- 
disturbed conversation with her childhood com- 
panion ; how volubly they would speak of the 
delightful events of the past. He attributed her 
previous restraint to her sudden transition from 
the dismal quietness of convent life to the dizzy 
turmoil of the social world, and wondered what 
queer notions went tumbling about her puzzled 
little head. She would see her child-lover 
once more, would confide to him as of old and 
would find his heart yearning to call back the 
feeling which had been dormant so long. 


20 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


What dreams — but his reverie was brought to an 
end by his coming suddenly upon Yetta, who 
stood in a doorway overlooking the garden, 
gazing dreamily about. This incident, coupled 
with his romantic train of thoughts, served to 
completely demoralize him. The great love 
he felt for his cousin overmastered all thoughts 
of further restraint and he rushed forward, 
caught her in his arms and showered kiss after 
kiss upon her roseal, half-parted lips. 

“Oh Louis, how you frightened me !” exclaim- 
ed the girl, freeing herself from his grasp. 
“Were I your father,’’ she angrily resumed, 
“I would keep you locked up all the time. 
You are positively dangerous.” 

“What a fine young lady you are,” Louis 
admiringly said, not heeding her anger. “It 
seems to me as if it were but yesterday that we 
romped together. What a rousing girl you 
are!” 

He advanced with the intention of repeating 
the osculatory performance. 

“I wish you would stop those ungentlemanly 
manners,” Yetta curtly said, pushing him away. 
“I think over-study has taken away the little 
intelligence you once possessed.” 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


21 


Louis had expected a more amiable recep- 
tion. 

“Such a compliment should be punished with 
a kiss,” he replied, affecting gayety. 

“ Love may cherish such punishments,” was 
the chilling reply; “ indifference detests them.” 

Louis made no reply, but gazed amusedly at 
the angry girl, curious to discover what could 
be her motive in being so curt. He ob- 
served that her lips trembled like those of a 
frightened child, and plainly saw she was far 
from meaning what she said. He felt an irre- 
sistible yearning to take her again in his arms 
and kiss those pouting lips until they smiled for 
him; but the harsh manner in which she had 
spoken had wounded his pride, and he did not 
care to be too effusive without first teasing her 
a little. Smiling derisively, he said: 

“Your conduct is not very laudable, Yetta.” 

“ I am aware of it,” was the quick retort. 

“ Then why do you act that way?” 

“ Because I do not care to remodel my char- 
acter to suit your fancy.” 

Louis bit his lip and changed his tone to one 
of conciliation. 

“ Come,” he said, “ look gay and do not be 


22 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


so mean. Suppose we stroll about the gardens? 
It is such a fine evening for walking.” 

“ I thank you ever so much, but I am tired,” 
was the answer. 

“Tired?” Louis testily exclaimed. “That 
word never escaped your lips years ago — ” 

Yetta impatiently interrupted him. 

“ I wish you would cease importuning me 
about my baby days,” she said. “I told you it 
displeased me.” 

Louis gazed sadly at her. 

“ Do I annoy you ? ” he asked. 

“ When you speak of our childhood — yes.” 

“You really do not care to listen to me?” 

“ I have proved it often enough.” 

“ It would then cause you unutterable joy if I 
left you alone?” 

“ I assure you it would.” 

“ Very well, marble-hearted, convent-bred 
girl, I will pester you no more.” 

He abruptly left the room. Yetta looked on 
with unmoved features, but a tear coursed down 
her cheek as her lover disappeared from sight. 

One morning, Louis rose earlier than usual 
and/wandered about the garden, pondering over 
the singularity of Yetta’ s conduct. Whenever 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


23 


Dr. Alvez or any member of the family were 
present, she was amiable, even affectionate with 
him, but she would immediately assume an 
attitude of exasperating coldness . should she 
find herself alone with him and finally leave 
the room on some trifling pretext. 

“That girl is a born coquette,” mused 
Louis, walking aimlessly about. “ I never had 
a flattering opinion of convents, — Hello!” 

He had come around a sharp turn of the path 
and found himself face to face with Yetta, who 
was reclining in an easy chair, apparently 
deeply interested in an illustrated magazine. 
She seemed not to have noticed the intruder. 

“ Let me try a reconciliation,” thought Louis. 
“ Perhaps she is in good humor this morning.” 

He advanced toward her and pleasantly 
said : 

“ Up already, cousin? This is quite an unex- 
pected pleasure.” 

Yetta kept on reading with unaltered persist- 
ency. 

Louis gulped down an angry remark and 
gallantly resumed : 

“ A Madonna would envy your grace, Yetta. 


24 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


You are as appetizing as a rose bud this morn- 
ing.” 

He made a feint of kissing her, She edged 
away a little and fixed her dark eyes upon him. 

“ I detest time-worn compliments,” she said. 

“ I will cheerfully coin new ones to please 
you,” answered Louis. 

Again those dark eyes were raised to his face 
in frowning rebuke. 

“ I wish you would talk and act sensibly once 
in your life,” said their owner, coldly. “ I am 
tired to hear everybody say we are going to 
marry, and I want to come to some definite 
understanding with you: Do you really love 
me?” 

The suddenness of the question took Louis 
by surprise. 

“ It would be folly to deny it,” he wonder- 
ingly replied. 

“I felt sure of it,” Yetta resumed, “but I 
wanted to hear you say so. Perhaps I also lov.e 
you, but I can not confess it. You do not un- 
derstand my nature, Louis. You think me 
haughty and cruel; could you read my thoughts 
you would unhesitatingly pity me. I know I 
I make you suffer, but you are not the only 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


25 


one who feels miserable. Could you be near 
when I am alone in my room and see the tears 
that veil my eyes when I ponder over my happy, 
innocent childhood ; could you listen to the 
beating of my aching heart, you would kneel 
before me and implore my pardon for every 
unkind word you spoke to me.” 

“ Sweet love,” said Louis, fondly, “ If you 
only knew how dear you were to me.” 

He made an effort to take her in his arms, 
but the girl pushed him away, saying: 

“ No, Louis, I can never be yours. My heart 
may be longing to remain amid associations of 
a life which I can never revive, but I must steel 
it against such thoughts. I must return to 
convent next week. If you have any compas- 
sionate feeling for me, do not make the parting 
harder. Even if I am rude with you, be kind 
to me, forgive me!’* 

She glanced imploringly at him. He started, 
for he saw in that look the unconscious avowai 
of a deep, passionate love, whose fervency only 
death could obliterate. He felt like folding her 
to his bosom ; but she had so often repulsed 
him, he remained impassive. 

“ I admire your frankness, Yetta,” he said, 


26 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


quietly. “ I hardly comprehend your motive, 
but I respect it. Were you my wife, my path- 
way through life would be strewn with thornless 
roses; but you deny me that happiness and I 
will do as you wish. Give me your hand. If 
we can not be lovers, we can at least part as 
friends.” 

He extended his hand, but Yetta eluded it. 

“ I care no more for your friendship than I 
do for your love,” was the haughty remark. 
“ I thought you loved me truly and felt sorry 
for you, knowing I could never be your wife. 
The nuns rightly told me that all men were 
fickle and false-hearted, and it was foolish of 
me to believe you sincere for a single moment. 
If you really cared for me, you would not have 
proved so faint-hearted ; you would have begged 
me to marry you with all the ardor which true 
love inculcates. Instead of giving me up so 
easily, you would now be on your knees before 
me. 

Louis looked coldly at her. 

“ I have never knelt before a woman,” he 
said ; “ I never will.” 

He walked rapidly away to conceal his agita- 
tion. When he had got around the turn in the 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


27 


path, he stopped, softly retraced his steps and 
peeped at the scene he had just left. Yetta’s 
head was laid on her arm and he could see by 
her trembling form that she was sobbing. A 
satisfied smile displaced the frown which had 
darkened his features and he walked away with 
a happier heart. He was now certain of her 
love. 

A few hours later a servant brought the 
young doctor the appended note : 

‘‘Dear Louis — I hope you are not angry be- 
cause I treated you so unkindly this morning. 
I felt nervous and did not mean half the things 
I said. I am going to make a pilgrimage to the 
Lover’s Oak just now; meet me there as soon 
as you can escape from that nasty old labora- 
torv and we can talk about anything you like. 

“Yetta.” 

Louis tore the note into minute pieces. 

“I will do no such thing,” he said. “If she 
thinks she can make a jumping-jack out of me, 
she is mistaken. Hang those convent girls, 
anyhow. I wonder if they are all as chameleon- 
like as Yetta ?” 

He went to his desk and began to attend to 
routine business. By some inexplicable phe 
nomenon, the miscellaneous rows of jars and 


28 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


bottles about him gradually vanished and there 
arose in their stead a stately oak, near which 
bubbled a little fountain. He looked on more 
intently. A human form slowly outlined itself, 
finally disclosing a saddened, expectant face, 
whose dark eyes were wistfully turned toward 
him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again — 
but only saw medical paraphernalia. 

“If that girl does not drive me crazy with her 
sorcery,” he muttered, “I am endowed with 
phenomenal mental calibre.” 

He arose with a sigh and went toward the 
designated place. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ See here : I shut tight my weary eyes, 

As thousands of times I’ve done in play. 
When I unclose them in soft surprise, 
Ring out a laugh in your own old way ! ” 


Louis entered the garden with wildly beating 
heart, and hastened his steps when he neared 
the Lover’s Oak — so called because it had been 
the trysting-place of amorous couples from time 
immemorial. As he drew near, however, the 
spirit of aggressiveness which had ruled since 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


29 


the lovers had been thrown together, prompted 
him to open hostilities, and he walked toward 
Yetta with the avowed intention of getting her 
angry. Seeing she had not noticed his coming, 
he hid behind a tree and indulged in the intel- 
lectual pastime of watching her every move- 
ment. She was knitting-, and the sight seemed 
to Louis the prettiest he had ever witnessed. 

For a few moments Yetta went on with her 
work in silence; then, looking up, quietly said: 

“ It seems to me it is quite warm to play 
hide-and-seek, doctor. Come and sit near me.” 

How gently she spoke ! Louis stared speech- 
lessly at her, wondering if he was not the vic- 
tim of a delicious vision. 

“I see that you are revengeful, continued 
Yetta, in the same.tone. “Do not be that way. 
See, I have made a nice, cosy place for you.” 

And she pushed aside her work. 

“I am sure you must think me very stupid,” 
said Louis, taking the proffered seat. 

“Not at all. You are a little eccentric, that 
is all. But you are a doctor and this foible is 
pardonable. By the by, we have spent so 
much time wrangling about one thing and 
another, that you did not once speak to me 


30 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


about your future plans or your profession. I 
think it is such a noble one. Confide all your 
secrets to me, Louis.” 

She leaned her head upon her hand and 
looked encouragingly at him. Louis’ first 
thought was that she was making fun of him, 
and he opened his mouth to say something un- 
kind ; but those clear eyes looking straight into 
his own disarmed him, and the harsh words 
remained unuttered. 

“Do you really care to listen to me?” he 
asked, for want of something else to say. 

“ If I was not interested in your welfare, 
I would not have called you here,” was the re- 
proving answer. 

Louis hesitatingly pressed her hand. She 
made no resistance. He then tried to speak, 
but the phrases he wished to utter went whirling 
about his mind in such wild disorder, that he 
merely stared at the girl and kept on pressing 
her hand. Yetta’s face became a deep pink all 
over, the color going and coming like the soft- 
ening glow of a dying ember. 

“ Why are you holding my hand so tightly 
and looking at me in such a funny way?” she 
queried, poutingly. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


31 


“I — er — that is — er— I was trying to — er — 
mesmerize you,” stammered the doctor, hazard- 
ing any reply. 

Yetta looked at him in sincere wonder. 

“ I don’t understand, Louis. Please explain.” 

Louis was but slightly familiar with this mys- 
terious science; nevertheless, he began a graphic 
portraiture of its effects on certain persons, the 
utopian experiments he had witnessed, etc., 
concluding by getting things so hopelessly con- 
fused, that Yetta smilingly interrupted: 

“ I can not understand your meaning, but it is 
not your fault if I am dull of comprehension. 
From the faint knowledge I glean from your 
explanation, I think it must be so nice to be 
mesmerized. Could you not try again? I 
promise not to disturb you.” 

The unwilling champion of Mesmer winced 
a little, but it was too late to retreat. 

“You must then remain perfectly still and 
look me straight in the eyes,” he gravely re- 
marked. 

Yetta did so. 

Louis arose, made a few passes, and said: 

“ Don’t you feel a little drowsy? ” 

“Never was so wide awake in my life.” 

“ This is the precursor of the magnetic cur 


32 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


rent,” observed the experimenter, feeling it 
mandatory to say something. 

He next indulged in a nondescript pantomime. 

“Are you asleep now?” he asked, faintly. 

“Not a bit,” was the discouraging reply. 

Again Louis made spasmodic passes, but 
Yetta’s eyes shone with tantalizing clearness. 

“It is not right to act that way,” complained 
the doctor. “You must go to sleep.” 

“ But I don’t feel any magnetic current. You 
know you said this was the principal thing in 
mesmerism.” 

“That’s nothing; shut tight your eyes and 
you will feel it quick enough.” 

She languidly closed her eyes. Louis waited 
a few moments and said : 

“Are you asleep now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fast asleep? ” 

“Nothing but your domineering mind can 
awake me.” 

The situation was getting embarrassing. 
Louis knew she was dissembling. 

“ I experience a fond longing to pry into the 
secrets of your heart,” he said, in deep, thrilling 
tones. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


33 


‘ ‘ My heart is no longer in my power,” came 
the response, in a voice so low that the hyp- 
notizer had to bend very near to distinguish the 
sounds. 

“ What audacious mortal has dominion over 
it?” he said, breathlessly. 

“ The one whose subtle influence has over- 
mastered my volition.” 

“And the owner of the heart, has she — ” 

“ I divine your thoughts ere you can utter 
them. No, she has no desire to recall it.” 

Her answers flashed like lightning ! 

“Never mind,” thought Louis, “ I’ll give 
you tit for tat.” 

He noiselessly slipped away and walked be- 
hind Yetta, intending to take her by surprise 
and kiss her upturned lips. He slowly stooped 
over her. Nearer and nearer were her lips ; 
wilder and wilder beat his heart. Only one 
second and he would have tasted the prohibited 
ambrosia — but the queenly head was swiftly 
averted, and he only kissed a fluttering curl. 

Louis was naturally indignant. 

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, frown- 
ing. 

I £m. See, my eyes are closed.’' 


34 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ How then could you have seen me stooping 
down ?” 

“ I did not see you. I read what was going 
on in your mind.’’ 

“ How can you read what was going on in 
my mind, when it is / who mesmerized you ? 
You are a little imposter, Yetta.” 

“You have mastery over me in all matters 
which do not appertain to loving demonstra- 
tions — but no further. The moment you feel 
the least desire to take familiarities with me, 
vour dominion ceases. A touch suffices to 
transfer your will power to me.” 

“ The pupil seems to know more than its in- 
structor,” mused Louis. “Let me formulate 
a poser. Ah, I have it!” 

He again faced her and gravely observed: 

“ By the mastery my will exercises over thine, 
O ! dormant girl, I command thee to warble a 
fervid love sonnet — a tune which no mortal ears 
have yet heard and which mortal lips have yet 
to utter. Selah ! I have spoken.” 

A slight tremor passed over the girl and her 
face was very pale as she replied : 

“ Director of my subservient mind, must I 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


35 


chant of the blissful past, the troublous present 
or the veiled future?” 

“ Thy song must allude to those three phases 
of life,” was the triumphant response. 

Yetta slightly raised her head and sang the 
following strain, in a voice scarcely audible at 
first, but which gradually became louder and 
clearer as she proceeded: 

PARTED. 

We must part! 

Ah, my tones quaver 
And my blanched cheeks paler seem ; 

Can it be that I shall never 

See thine eyes with love-looks beam ? 

Thou art pensive ’cause my cold hand 
Trembles as it fondles thine, 

Telling of wounds which can ne’er mend — 
Wounds enshrined by arts of thine. 

Courage ! 

See, my lips are smiling 
And my voice hath ceased to quaver ; 

Press my hand just once, my darling, 

Ere we drift apart forever. 

Though from thy side I now hasten, 

Still thy dear face e’er will haunt me — 

Love, I see thy fond eyes glisten ; 

Is it — is it — No, I must flee! 


36 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Farewell ! 

As the waning starbeams 
Linger in the morning sky ; 

As the Orient gleams with sunbeams 
And the dawn of day is nigh — 

Still, my lover, I’ll be thinking 
Of a face which makes mine glow, 

And my white lips will be pleading: 

“Darling, 7 is not time to go! ” 

As the final notes of the song floated away, 
gradually blending with the trillings of the birds, 
Louis caught Yetta in his arms and passion- 
ately embraced her. She gave a startled cry 
and rushed away from him. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ There is no death ! The stars go down 
To rise upon some fairer shore ; 

And, bright in Heaven’s jeweled crown, 
They shine forevermore.” 


Louis pressed his hands to his forehead and 
thought over the occurrences of the past weeks, 
feeling certain he would become mad if Yetta 
kept on tantalizing him much longer. Hearing 
a slight noise, he turned around, — and there 
stood Yetta, calmly looking at him! 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


37 


“ For God’s sake, stop tormenting me!” he 
cried, putting forth his hands as if to push her 
away. “ I have no strength left to defend my- 
self.” 

“I do not come to torment you,” sadly 
replied Yetta, resuming her seat. “ If any one 
has cause to make reproaches, I should do so. 
I was playing with you, and you should not 
have taken advantage of my defenceless condi- 
tion. You have wronged me deeply, Louis, 
iot I now feel I can never conquer the senti- 
ment I have for you.” 

She buried her face between her hands and 
sobbed. Louis drew her gently to him and 
soothingly caressed her. She presently be- 
came calmer and said, suddenly : 

“ Is it true that all men are fickle-hearted 
and false ? ” 

“ With a single exception, yes.” 

“ That exception is yourself? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ You then never loved before? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Never even had a sweetheart! ” 

“ You are a walking catechism, Yetta.” 

“ You do not answer my question.” 


38 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ Yes, I did have some. But this does not 
signify that I loved. All young men are — ” 

“Never mind other men. I want to know 
how many sweethearts you have had thus far.” 

“ That’s a funny question. I would answer 
with pleasure, but I lost the set of books in which 
I kept their names.” 

He smiled, but Yetta looked compassionately 
at him. 

“ You are very young to speak so banteringly 
about such a grave subject,” said she. “Do 
you mean to tell me that you have loved, adored 
and forgotten — all within the brief transition 
from adolescence to manhood?” 

“Such is the astounding truth.” 

Again Yetta looked pityingly at him. 

“You are indeed worthy of commiseration,” 
she observed, shaking her head. “I wonder if 
God will forgive you when the Day of Judg- 
ment arrives.” 

“Ido not believe in such things,” said Louis. 

“Do you mean to say you do not think the 
soul is immortal ?” 

“I have faith in the soul’s immortality, but 
not in a general day of judgment.” 

“I fail to understand your meaning, Louis.” 

“I will make it clearer: You believe in the 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


39 


revival from the dead, and feel certain the day 
will come when an angel will descend from 
Heaven and warn mankind of its approaching 
doom. The tombs throughout the world will 
then crumble into dust, and their erst soulless 
tenants will be vivified and will throng the earth 
once more. This looks very pretty as an alle- 
gorical dissertation, but can never happen in 
reality. When a human being dies his soul re- 
turns to its Maker, who allots it to a place 
suited to its deportment while roaming the earth. 
In the meantime the lifeless clay has been en- 
tombed, and soon crumbles into dust. Thus 
nothing is left of the original shape. Centuries 
drag by. This residue of a once animated 
creation is gradually absorbed by the atmos- 
phere, vanishing forever as time rolls on. Now, 
if there is any such thing as a general Day of 
Judgment, how can all the particles originally 
composing the body be reassembled into a 
compact mass? Can the elements restore the 
dust they have wafted throughout the Universe, 
and which has been mingling with the exu- 
dations from millions upon millions of soul- 
less bodies tor ages past? It is undeniably im- 
possible.” 


40 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Yetta seemed bewildered. 

“ And the soul, Louis,” said she, 4 ‘is its mis- 
sion ended when it leaves the body?” 

•/ 

“ No, it is immortal. If it is a crime-haunted 
soul, it is whirled into the deepest abyss of the 
infernal regions, where it squirms in eternal 
agony. If, on the contrary, its career has been 
pure, it is sent into other worlds, where it enters 
the body of a new-born babe and shields its 
after life from harm.” 

“ The soul is then simply one’s guardian 
angel?” 

“ You may call it thus.” 

Yetta remained thoughtful for a few mo- 
ments. 

“You speak of other worlds, Louis,” she 
soon resumed, wonderingly; “ what do you 
mean by this ?’ ' 

“Every star in the firmament is more or less 
populated.” 

The girl fixed her troubled gaze upon her 
cousin. 

“The nuns never told me all this,” said she, 
simply. “ I was made to believe that there was 
nothing but gaping nothingness beyond the 
clouds. Is there no limit to the universe, Louis.” 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


41 


4 4 Space is unfettered by measurement. Be- 
yond this world are others. Above, around— 
everywhere you may look, a star will always 
greet your vision. This star is a living world, 
peopled with beings who, as they glance in our 
direction, perhaps wonder what is that insignifi- 
cant speck in the heavens, billions of miles from 
them.” 

“ How strange all this is,” vaguely observed 
Yetta. 44 I never would have dreamed that 
such wonderful things existed. What will be- 
come of all these planets, Louis, when the end 
of the world comes? Will they all unite in a 
solid mass, or — or — ” 

She stopped short and looked helplessly at 
the doctor, who smiled at her bewilderment. 

“ I — I can not conjecture,” she said. 44 The 
subject is too deep for me.” 

“The world will never come to an end,” 
Louis quietly said. 44 The earth might be 
shattered, stars may forsake their courses and 
crash against each other through space, but 
there will always be millions left — thousands of 
new ones created out of their chaos.” 

44 Matter is then imperishable?” 

« 4 The reconstruction of the universe goes on 


42 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


everlastingly. Watch the sky attentively for a 
few weeks and you will notice its changeability. 
All around us old worlds are dying out and new 
ones springing from their ruins. This is evi- 
denced by the fact that stars whi<ph were plainly 
visible to the naked eye }'ears ago suddenly dis- 
appear and are never seen again. The fixed 
stars that you admire so much on a radiant 
night may have been annihilated centuries ago; 
the light which reaches your vision is sim- 
ply its beam, which has perhaps been travel- 
ing through space since its source was shattered 
cycles ago. This explains why you sometimes 
see a star suddenly flare with intensity, then as 
swiftly die out. It is the tale of a catastrophe 
which happened long years ago, ere your great- 
great-grandparents were born.” 

4 f How frightful !” exclaimed Yetta, pressing 
closer to the speaker. 44 It makes me shiver to 
think of all this. Is it really true that all things 
will never come to an end?” 

44 The machinery of the universe will never 
stop. Matter is indestructible; the soul im- 
mortal. When your heart’s pulsations are stilled 
and your lips closed in icy immutability, your 
soul soars through space, speeding on, on, on, 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


43 


until it reaches the throne of the Ever Living, 
the God who moulded it. It may then be sent 
to animate a human frame millions — aye, bil- 
lions — of leagues away, but the time comes 
when it also abandons this clayey tenement and 
seeks another habitation. Thus it wanders 
with ceaseless toil until centuries and centuries 
pass by and the universe is studded anew with 
worlds.” 

Yetta pressed her hands to her temples. 

“I — I can not countenance it,” she faltered. 
“All this is beyond my comprehension and 
makes my thoughts whirl as leaves in the grasp 
of a hurricane.” 

She cast down her eyes and was soon lost in 
meditation. 


CHAPTER V. 


“ Now back to the world and let Fate do her worst 
On the heart that for thee such devotion hath nursed.” 


Louis had reached the conclusion that Yetta 
had this time permanently strayed into dream- 
land, when she suddenly remarked: 

“ I have seriously considered the matter and 


44 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


I think it is best we should never marry. As I 
have mot yet taken the veil, the Church would 
release me from my hasty vow, but I am afraid 
to be free. I can never have unlimited confi- 
dence in you. You are too learned in worldly 
ways. You are an irredeemable inconstant and 
can never make me happy.’ ’ 

“You are evidently losing your temper, my 
dear,” said Louis, amusedly. “ Come, let us 
kiss and make up. You kno’Cv I adore you.” 

He put his arm around her waist, but she 
angrily pushed it away. 

“Do not touch me!” she exclaimed, scorn- 
fully. “ This self-same expression you have 
repeated to as many girls as were foolish 
enough to listen to you, and the caresses you 
wish to give me have been lavished upon wo- 
men whose features you do not even remember. 
How can I help doubting your sincerity? I 
have bared my heart to you, telling you all my 
sorrows, yet you look on with pitiless indiffer- 
ence, turning into ridicule everything I say.” 

Louis hesitatingly approached her. She did 
not repel him, but fixed her troublous eyes re- 
proachfully upon his face. 

“ God knows I do not act thus to pain you,” 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


45 


he kindly said. “ You are the most volcanic, 
most romantic girl I ever met, and I am sure 
you do not mean half the things you say. The 
nuns have taught you from girlhood to think 
that way and you can not help it. When you 
have seen a little of the world, you will laugh 
at those fantastic ideas, which one only meets 
in sensational novels.” 

Yetta looked thoughtfully at the speaker, but 
said nothing. Encouraged, he resumed: 

‘‘Let us put a stop to this nonsense, Yetta. 
I love you sincerely, and life without you would 
be shorn of all that is sublime in the world.” 

Yetta thrust her hand in her bosom and drew 
forth a small crucifix. 

“ Kiss this holy cross and swear by the 
Divinity we both adore that you are serious,” 
she said. 

Louis looked at the earnest girl in speechless 
wonder. 

“Do you refuse?” she asked, tremulously. 

The young doctor pressed the sacred metal 
to his lips. 

“I swear I love you truly,” he said, his 
voice trembling with suppressed emotion. 


4G 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“What further proof do you want? Speak and 
you will be obeyed.’ ’ 

Yetta replaced the crucifix in her bosom and 
said : 

“I am satisfied, Louis. You may be false- 
hearted, but I believe you are honorable and 
would not perjure yourself to please a woman. 
I love you, but how can I know my passion is 
lasting? You are the first man who has ever 
kissed me, the only one who has talked so 
strangely sweet to me, and I can not help feeling 
for you a fascination which I can not define. 
Suppose I become your bride and then meet the 
one I am destined to love unreservedly, what 
will become of me? I would break your heart 
and lose my soul forever.” She stopped a 
moment, then resumed: “Let us estrange our- 
selves for a year. During that time I will 
go into society, encourage admirers and flirt 
with whomsoever I fancy. If I love you truly, 
my heart will remain unchanged; if I am sim- 
ply infatuated, you will be saved the humiliation 
of marrying a woman who cared but lightly 
for you.” 

Louis gazed amazedly at his cousin. Of all 
her queer notions, this certainly was the most 


YETTA. THE NUX. 


47 


extraordinary. Surely, true love could never 
harbor in such a hardened heart. He had 
blindly trusted her, feeling certain she cared for 
him, and the idea that she was perhaps toying 
with him made the blood surge through his 
veins like molten lava. The madcap blood of 
his Spanish ancestors made the sting of defeat 
still more penetrating. He controlled himself, 
however, and said, in tones he vainly strove to 
render dispassionate : 

‘‘You had better become a nun, Yetta. It 
would be decidedly unwise for you to marry ; 
you might tire of your husband ere the honey- 
moon is over and cry for your cherished con- 
vent.” 

He approached nearer to her and continued, 
getting angrier at every sentence: 

“ Return to your nunnery, misguided girl, 
and remain there until eternity. Seek salvation 
in the arms of those pale-faced nuns. Let 
them pray night and day to remove the stain my 
caresses have engrafted on your soul. In after 
years, when the voice which now blanches your 
cheeks and kindles your eyes with sudden flame 
is forever hushed, you will perhaps give a sor- 
rowful thought to the memory of one whose re- 


18 


ROMANCES OP' NEW ORLEANS. 


jected love your whole soul yearns to recall. 
When you — ” 

But the sentence remained unfinished. Her 
eyes flashing with the fire of wounded pride, 
Yetta angrily pressed her hand to his mouth, 
checking his mad-brain speech. She then 
placed a trembling hand on his arm and said: 

“ I will make you regret those words, impet- 
uous boy ! I will not return to convent, but will 
remain to wring your heart with despair and 
make you idolize me still more fondly than you 
now do. I swear by the memory of my saintly 
ancestors that I love you; but you might im- 
plore me to marry you a thousand times more 
madly than you have thus far done — 1 wili never 
be yours !” 

She attempted to rise, but Louis grasped her 
arm and compelled her to sit beside him again. 

‘‘You swear you will never many,” he ex- 
claimed in faltering tones. “This is idle talk, 
imperious girl ! You love me, distractedly, and 
it lies within my power to make you sway to my 
will. You w/// be my wife, I tell you ! I will 
fan your passion into such soul-consuming 
fierceness that you will weepingly seek me and 
implore me on bended knees to assuage your 
anguish I” 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


49 


Yetta looked defiantly at him. Pushing him 
away from her, she quietly arose and walked 
off. Involuntarily, Louis stretched forth his 
arms, hoping she would turn back, but she kept 
firmly on and soon vanished through the som- 
bre oaks. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Love, when true, can never die; 

Sweethearts part, but still they sigh. 

f — 

From the time of their stormy interview under 
the Lovers’ Oak, the cousins never met without 
exchanging unkind words. Everywhere they 
found themselves face to face, they would con- 
tradict each other on the simplest subjects, 
smiling pleasantly all the while, but choosing 
expressions they knew would lacerate the heart 
at which it was aimed. 

Louis soon felt he was growing into a state of 
alarming professional uselessness. He lost all 
interest in medical subjects, his thoughts wan- 
dering to Yetta or some particular act of annoy- 
ance he could do her, whenever he began any 
rational work. He finally resolved to bring 
4 


50 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


matters to a crisis. He had tried all he could 
to make her consent to become his bride and 
he would now attempt a last ruse — make love to 
another girl. He knew what a potent factor 
jealousy was in love. He had proofs that 
it was a passion which corroded the pur- 
est hearts and burned a pathway to the 
deepest recesses of the soul. He no more 
doubted that Yetta loved him. Often he felt 
tempted to kneel before her and implore 
her to ease his anguish; but the demon of pride 
would stalk before him and chill any conciliatory 
demonstrations. 

Louis soon had an opportunity to begin 
carrying his idea into execution. Dr. Alvez’s 
business increasing, he procured the services 
of an eminent American chemist, Mr. Carleton 
Hevlin, who was given a suite of rooms in the 
Doctor’s residence. 

Mr. Hevlin was a widower. He had only 
one child, Lulie, a sweet, blue-eyed lassie of 
seventeen. 

Of course it seemed perfectly natural that 
Louis should be amiable with Lulie. Being his 
guest, it was his duty to see that she was well 
cared for and felt no restraint in her new home. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


51 


How well he discharged his task, will be seen 
later on. 

A strong friendship had sprung between 
Lulie and Yetta. This at first annoyed Louis 
and made him doubt the feasibility of his plan, 
but he rightly concluded that the proud girl kept 
her secret locked in her breast and Lulie 
suspected nothing. 

Child that he was to thus trifle with love. 
His insane wish to render Yetta jealous made 
him blind to everything. He never gave 
consideration to the fact that Lulie was 
young and inexperienced and little suspected 
what ravages he was working in her trust- 
ing heart. He merely noticed Yetta’s restless 
look whenever he went out alone with his new 
love, and smiled contentedly. 

One evening Louis entered the parlor and 
found only Yetta present. 

“ Where’s Lulie ?” he queried, with feigned 
annoyance. 

“She is in the garden,” replied Yetta, indif- 
ferently “ I can spare your company.” 

Louis thoughtfully contemplated his cousin. 

“ Suppose I find this spot more attractive?” 
he observed, seating himself near by. 


52 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ I would leave you in undisputed posses- 
sion of it,” retorted Yetta, walking out of the' 
room. 

“ She is getting paler day by day,” mused 
Louis, a remorseful sensation in his breast. 
“ But she looks so beautiful when her eyes 
flash in anger — when her bosom heaves with 
suppressed emotions and her fingers tremble to 
clutch and hurt me — that it would be a pity to 
give up Lulie. You make me suffer, overproud 
girl, but two can play at that game.” 

He repressed a sigh and went in search of 
Lulie. As he neared the end of the path lead- 
ing to the summer-house, he perceived her 
seated at a window, busily knitting. She 
feigned not to have noticed his coming, but her 
nervousness betrayed her. 

Louis stepped to the window and stood look- 
ing at her. 

“ Cruel girl !” he reproachfully said, pinch- 
ing her tempting pink ear. 

She gave a cry of joyful surprise. 

“ Is that you, Louis?” she exclaimed. “You 
came in so noiselessly, I did not hear you.” 

“ You are a little story-teller,” was the laugh- 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


53 


ing rejoinder. “You did see me coming, and 
I defy you to look into my face and deny it. 
Bring that dear head closer that I may kiss those 
cherub lips.” 

“ No you won’t, ” answered Lulie, draw- 
ing back a little; “ I don’t think it’s nice man- 
ners.” 

Louis moodily walked up the steps and sat 
down in a remote corner. 

“ Are you angry?” said Lulie, seating herself 
near him; “I’m sure I said nothing to hurt 
your feelings.” 

“ You refused to kiss me,” muttered Louis, 
sadly. 

Lulie laughed merrily. 

“Is that all?” she said; “I do not deny it.” 

“ And I, who thought myself so welcome 
when I was beside you,” sighed the hypocrite. 

Lulie fixed her gaze on the ground. 

“ I can not kiss you,” she said, lowly. 

Louis looked apprehensively at her. Could 
Yetta have been opening her eyes to the true 
state of things? 

“Why this sudden coolness, Lulie?” he said, 
uneasily. “See how close my lips are: you 


54 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


have merely to turn your head a little to touch 
them with yours.” 

“It would not be right for me to do so,” was 
the gentle response. “Last night I was count- 
ing the kisses you had stolen from me, and I 
did not have enough fingers to check them all. 
So I resolved to put a stop to these familiar- 
ities. You might see nothing wrong now, but 
later on you will say: ‘That girl allowed me 
to kiss her without being engaged to me; of 
course I can’t marry her.’ That’s the way 
men are.” 

She gave a decided toss of her golden 
curls. Louis felt relieved and smiled at her 
oddity. 

“You are a grand rascal,” he said. “Sup- 
pose I was your affianced, would you kiss me?’, 

“I presume so. That is what people get 
engaged for. ” 

“I do not know how to begin,” was the 
mournful plaint. 

“What an absent-minded boy you are! Why, 
you have asked me to marry you at least a 
dozen times in your poems.” 

“Poetry and reality are different things.” 

“Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you.” 


VETTA, THE NUN. 


55 


She put aside her work. Louis curiously 
watched her, but was not allowed a long time 
for observation. Seating herself with an air of 
unruffled dignity, the self-appointed preceptor 
began : 

“You must first clasp my hand.” 

Louis did so. 

“Now, look as if you expected the earth was 
going to swallow you up.” 

An agonized expression overspread his counte- 
nance. 

“ You must now go on your knees before me 
— how your hand trembles ! It is not yet time 
to tremble; this comes only after kneeling.” 

Louis hesitated. The words he had repeated 
to Yetta, “ I have never knelt before a woman ; 
1 7 i ever will,” rang in his ears. 

“ How pale you are, Louis,” resumed Lulie. 
“ Kneel before your queen; I promise she will 
not be tyrannical.” 

He obeyed. The vibrations of his heart 
were painfully irregular; but he looked up into 
Lulie’s smiling face and the pain was somewhat 
eased. 

“ Now,” resumed the gentle autocrat, “pre- 
pare for the ordeal. Look as miserable as you 


56 ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 

can and say in trembling tones: ‘ Miss Hevlin, 
ever since my gaze rested on your seraphic 
features I have worshiped you night and day. 
Consent, O ! enchanting miss, to become my 
bride, or my existence will be an eternity of 
despair.* ” 

Louis repeated the sentence word for word. 

“Your sentiments find an echoing thrill in 
my heart, imploring youth,*’ resumed Lulie, 
sweetly bending over her lover. “Assume your 
customary attitude and be welcome to all the 
privileges of an affianced.” 

Before Louis had time to arise, she playfully 
passed her arm around his neck and pressed her 
lips to his. It was a pure, girlish embrace, 
free from voluptuousness — just the sort of ca- 
ress one would expect from a mirthful child. 
This innocent demonstration of love caused an 
enthralling sensation to possess the unhappy 
young doctor. For the first time since parting 
from Yetta he really felt happy. He reasoned 
that the love of this dear girl would be a greater 
boon to him than the passion of a convent-bred 
creature, whose untenable way of thinking 
would always prompt her to render his life mis- 
erable. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 67 

He sat beside Lulie with the old sensation of 
tranquillity in his breast, and fondly saidf 

“You do not know, my darling, how happy 
I am, now that I feel assured you really care for 
me. Come, let us walk around the garden. 
The birds will watch us with envious eyes 
and the heavens will bend over us and bless our 
happiness. Come, sweetness.” 

He arose and extended his hand. Lulie 
gleefully grasped it and they ran down the steps 
like madcap children. A pet rabbit of Lulie’s, 
which happened to be peacefully dozing in a 
corner, looked up in affright at the lovers’ sud- 
den exit and bolted away as fast as its little legs 
could carry it. Lulie chased it, but it soon 
outstripped her and disappeared in the shrub- 
bery. Ere Louis was aware of it, they had 
reached the Lovers’ Oak and seated themselves 
beneath its patriarchal boughs. 

Lulie presently observed: 

“ Do you remember that love song you taught 
me a few weeks ago ? ” 

Louis nodded. 

“ Suppose we sing it? ” 

“ Just as you say, dearest.” 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


58 

Clasping each other’s hands, the lovers sang 
the following strain: 

SHE AND I. 

1 ( Ballad .) 

We were wooing in the starlight, 

She and I ; 

We were bidding sweetest good-night 
’Neath the sky. 

Ah, our hearts were wildly beating, 

And the future dawned enchanting, 

As our lips were pressed at parting, 

With a sigh! {bis.) 

We were at the altar kneeling, 

She and I ; 

Angels from above were peeping 
To espy 

And to watch love’s flow’rets springing, 

As we both began life’s morning, 

Anthems sweet and loving flinging 

To the sky! {bis . ) 

We are seated in the starlight, 

She and I ; 

We are speaking o’er life’s days bright, 

Long gone by. 

Though her tresses care has silver’d, 

And my frame with age is fetter’d, 

Still our love is deep and treasur’d 

Ne’er to die! {bis.) 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


59 


As the last echoes of the song finally died 
out, Louis heard a crackling noise behind him 
and started to his feet, filled with an undefined 
apprehension of danger. He glanced uneasily 
about, but seeing nothing unusual, resumed his 
seat. 

“How nervous you are,” exclaimed Lulie. 
“It must have been that same little rogue I was 
chasing a few moments ago. Talk love to me. 
All your poetry is so fervidly sweet, I am sure 
you can say such pretty things to the one who 
is dear to you.” 

Louis did not reply. In some inexplicable 
manner his thoughts had suddenly reverted to 
Yetta, and he regretted having so rashly be- 
trothed himself to Lulie. He knew he could 
never care for her as he did for the strange 
girl who seemed to have mastered his very 
soul. Tears filled his eyes and he pressed his 
hand to his heart to stay its'wild pulsations. 

“What is the matter?” said Lulie, wonder- 
ingly. “I am sure I said nothing to make you 
feel sorry.” 

Louis clasped her to him. 

“It is because I adore you above all things, 
that I act so strangely,” he said, deliriously. 


60 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“Do you know what love is, blue-eyed angel? 
It is the sublimest, the most princely gift of 
God to mankind. It assuages grief, thrills the 
whole world with happiness ! By all I hold 
sacred, I will do my best to make you happy. 
You are a thousand times purer than those nun- 
bred images, who come into the world to dis- 
tress mankind with their lurid views of life.” 

Lulie looked at her lover with dilated pupils. 

“How strangely you talk?” she said. “I 
am almost afraid of you.” 

Louis kissed the wondering eyes and con- 
tinued : 

“You will be my treasured bride, sweet girl. 
Here is to bind our hearts. It is the Alvez be- 
trothal ring. Aye, it has never till this day been 
the witness of such celestial love.” 

He put the heirloom around her finger. Her 
head fell on his bosom and they remained for a 
long time gazing into each other’s eyes, whisper- 
ing those tender nothings which only lovers 
understand. Lulie suddenly started. 

“How thoughtless of us,” she said, fretfully. 
“We will be late for supper and papa will scold. 
I must run to my room and fix up. Kiss me, 
quick.” 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


61 


Louis obeyed and Lulie ran down the path. 
She stopped when a few feet away, detached a 
rose which nestled in her hair, and threw it to 
him, saying: 

“Keep this in memory of to-night.” 

Louis picked up the flower and placed it near 
his heart. As he did so, he heard the same 
noise which had aroused him while singing with 
Lulie. He looked furtively about and faintly 
made out the silhouette of a human form flitting 
between the trees. He started in pursuit, but 
the misleading twilight had now melted into the 
darker shades of night and he could no longer 
discern anything. 


CHAPTER VII. 

While my pulses thrill and quiver, 
Thou shalt not enclasp another. 


Louis felt nervous at the recurrence of the 
mysterious noise and remained for a long time 
lost in meditation. 

“ Pooh ! it’s only imagination,” he reasoned ; 
“my nerves are unstrung, and I would not be 
surprised to find a couple of ghosts waiting for 
me in my room.” 


62 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


He went to his apartment, refreshed himself, 
and repaired to the sitting-room. Yetta was 
reading, but Lulie was not in her accustomed 
place. The young doctor glanced inquiringly 
about. 

44 Miss Hevlin has retired to her room,” ob- 
served Yetta, answering his look; 4 4 She does 
not feel well to-night.” 

44 Do you mean to say that Lulie is ill?” 
asked Louis, anxiously. 

44 A slight indisposition,” answered Yetta, 
carelessly; “she probably caught cold in the 
garden. The air is quite chilly to-night. This 
will give you the opportunity of spending the 
evening in my company, a luxury which you 
have not enjoyed for a long time. Sit beside 
me and chat a little. I am in high spirits to- 
night.” 

She smilingly put aside her book. 

44 I thank you very much,” said Louis, coldly; 
44 I prefer going to the club.” 

Yetta arose and placed a detaining hand on 
his arm. 

44 Why are you so rude?” she reproachfully 
said. 44 It is no reason because we do not love 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


63 


that we should be enemies for life. Let us be 
friends from to-night.” 

She looked pleadingly into his face. The 
young man’s undefended heart was powerless 
against such an unexpected attack. The old 
love burned in his breast with frenetic ardor; 
Lulie was instantly forgotten. 

“ Let us sit on this sofa,” said Yetta. “It is 
much more comfortable than those high-backed 
chairs.” 

Louis obeyed. Taking Yetta’ s hand in his, 
he tremulously said: 

“Why do you care for my company to-night, 
Yetta? You who have been so cruel, so unre- 
lenting in your harshness ! Tell me, sweet girl, 
why your cheeks are as pink as roses and your 
eyes shine with unusual lustre to-night? Mad- 
caps that we are to allow the golden hours to 
slip heedlessly by. Rest your head on my 
bosom, dearest, and tell me you adore me with 
as much fervency as I do you.” 

He passed his arm around her neck and drew 
her to him. For a moment she remained in 
his arms, then slowly freed herself. 

“Do you love only me?” she asked, sud- 
denly. 


64 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ I swear it,” was the fond answer. 

“And Lulie?” 

Louis felt the blood receding from his face. 

“Lulie?” he faltered. 

“ Yes, Lijlie,” emphasized Yetta, her eyes 
flashing. “ If you love me only, why does the 
mere mention of that name frighten you?” 

Louis had now regained his self-control. 

“Well, that is a good one,” he laughingly 
observed. “Jealous of that little blue-eyed 
doll-baby! I never gave her a moment’s seri- 
ous thought, dear. I was flirting with her just 
to tease you.” 

Yetta took up a small Bible near by and 
handed it to Louis, saying : 

“ Swear on this that you love me better than 
Lulie.” 

Louis raised the book to his lips. 

“ I swear — My God, look!’ 

The Bible fell to the floor and his senses 
reeled. He had suddenly caught sight of Lulie, 
who was seated near the door and gazing va- 
cantly about, as if incapable of crediting her 
senses. 

Yetta looked contemptuously at her lover. 

“ What new lies will you now invent,” said 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


65 


she, hotly. “ When she ran away from you and 
you hypocritically pressed the rose she threw you 
to your heart, I followed her, resolved to tell her 
the truth. I asked her to come to my room after 
supper and there I told her of your rascality. 
She indignantly defended you, but I gradually 
opened her eyes, and she tremblingly surrendered 
the ring which only those of our blood have thus 
far worn. Together we came to this room, and 
when she heard your footsteps, I told her to 
hide behind the door and she would see what a 
knave you were. See how distracted she looks — 
every word we uttered has pierced her trusting 
heart. Go and soothe her with additional false- 
hoods. ’’ 

She pushed him toward Lulie with such pas- 
sionate force that he would have fallen had he 
not steadied himself by grasping a chair. Dur- 
ing Yetta’s angry speech, Lulie had remained 
immovable; she now pressed both her hands to 
her heart, gave a choking sob and would have 
fallen to the floor had not Louis caught her in 
his arms. 

“Get a glass of water, Yetta, quick!” he 
cried, wildly. 

Yetty glanced scornfully at him. 

5 


66 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ You claim to be a doctor,” said she; “you 
can spare my assistance.” Then, changing her 
tone to one of exquisite sweetness: “You love 
me better than Lulie, do you not, Louis?” 

She bent over him, a strange look in her 
eyes. His heart gave a great bound to meet her 
own and his whole frame quivered with emo- 
tion. He felt like abandoning Lulie and rush- 
ing into the arms of the girl he adored. But 
the nerveless hand resting in his felt so cold, the 
pallid face looked so pitiful, he turned his head 
away and said, in tones which involuntarily 
trembled : 

“ I wish you would stop this foolishness, 
Yetta. Give me a little help, and this poor girl 
will soon open her eyes.” 

He kissed Lulie’s brow and caressingly 
smoothed her golden curls. Something flashed 
and he looked up to discover what it was. The 
sight which met his gaze froze his blood to icy 
coldness. Yetta stood staring at Lulie, her eyes 
aflame with unconcealed hatred, a bejeweled 
poignard in her hand. 

Louis sprang to his feet. 

“ Yetta,” he moaned, “ are you mad?” 

“It is not for you , coward,” replied Yetta, 
pushing him aside. 


67 


YETTA, THE NUN. 

She swiftly raised the poignard and attempted 
to plunge it into Lube’s bosom. Louis threw 
himself across the girl’s body. The glittering 
blade pierced his breast a few inches below the 
heart, buried to the hilt. A mist passed over 
his eyes and he lost consciousness. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss, 
And thy angel I’ll be, ’mid the horrors of this.” 


For months after the events narrated in the 
preceding chapter, Louis hovered between 
death and insanity. Night and day he raved 
about Yetta, imploring her to forgive him and 
begging her to come back to him. Sometimes 
he imagined that she relented and was bending 
over him with smiling lips, murmuring soothing 
phrases. When he held out his arms, her eyes 
would instantly flash with the fire of hate, she 
would become restless and menacing, and flee 
from him with a cry of horror. 

When he finally recovered his faculties and 
was able to resume the practice of his profes- 


68 ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 

sion, Louis was no more the flighty, debonair 
youth of old. His features were care-worn 
and sunken, his erst jet-black hair sprinkled 
with gray, aud an expression of settled sadness 
glowered in his eyes. 

Lulie was kind to the invalid during his con- 
valescence, but gradually estranged herself 
from him as he became stronger. She now 
felt only indifference for the one she thought 
she could love forever, and pitied him. Hers 
had been a momentary passion — a young girl’s 
first love, and she experienced neither pain nor 
regret that her dream had vanished. 

No one spoke of Yetta and Louis dared not 
mention her name. He -had a vague premoni- 
tion that the walls of St. Veronica Convent en- 
tombed her, and many were the anathemas he 
heaped upon that institution. 

One fateful day, while reading Le Courrier 
de la Louisiane , Louis came across an article 
headed “Taking the Veil,” and carelessly 
perused it. But something tugged at his heart 
and the paper fell from his grasp when he 
came to this paragraph : 

“Among those who became the Brides of 
Christ was Miss Yetta Delric, of this city. 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


69 


She will be known in religion as Sister Dolores. 
The young lady is a niece of our eminent phy- 
sician, Dr. Carlos Alvez.” 

“Lost forevermore !” Louis passionately 
cried. “O God! What have I done to be 
accursed with a hopeless love in the prime of 
life.” « 

He buried his face between his hands and 
sobbed like a child. 

“She is not lost to me,” he exclaimed, rising. 
“Though I have to tear her away from the arms of 
those accursed nuns, she will yet be my bride.” 

He went to his desk and wrote a long letter 
to Yetta, beseeching her to grant him an inter- 
view. He bribed one of the maids employed 
about the Convent, who promised to deliver 
his message with the utmost secrecy and to 
bring an answer that same evening. She was 
faithful to her promise — but her message was 
verbal and conveyed the intelligence that Sister 
Dolores was lost to the world forever and sent 
her cousin a crucifix as a parting souvenir. 

Louis recognized the little cross which had 
been a silent witness of his ardent vow to Yetta, 
and he dashed it to the ground. As he turned 
to go, he met the astonished gaze of his mes- 
senger. 


70 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“What the deuce are you gaping at?” he said, 
impatiently. “I thought you were miles away.” 

“I was waiting,” was the sententious reply. 

“Waiting for what? Am I still your debtor?” 

“Monsieur will pardon me. I thought he 
wanted to fey severe” 

She made a feint of going. A gleam of hope 
flashed across the horizon of despair. 

“Wait,” said Louis, eagerly. “You have 
given me an idea.” 

He drew forth the memorandum book in 
which he usually wrote his prescriptions and 
scribbled the following lines: 

“Yetta — At half-past twelve to-night I will 
scale the wall of your convent and wait for you 
under the oak which stands a few feet from the 
entrance. If you do not meet me there, I will 
seek you in your cell. Louis.” 

He folded this and handed it to the impassive 
girl, who all the time had kept her eyes fixed 
on the ground. 

“Be careful that the nuns do not see this,” 
he said, in admonitory tones. 

“Monsieur can rely upon my discretion,” 
replied the girl, bowing. She mechanically 
thrust the note into her bosom and was in the 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


71 


act of walking away, when Louis detained her 
with this remark: 

“Are you also going to become a nun?” 

The blue eyes flashed angrily. 

“No, indeed; I hate them,” was the un- 
looked-for reply. 

“ You do not prove it,” said Louis, laughing. 

“On the contrary, Monsieur,” answered the 
girl, mischievously. “ Do you think they would 
feel glad were they to be apprised of what I am 
doing for you? Ha, ha, ha! You do not know 
all the tricks I play them.” 

She bowed effusively and walked off, merrily 
singing one of Beranger’s arias. Louis turned 
his steps homeward with a hopeful heart, whist- 
ling the tune his sprightly messenger was chant- 
ing. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come ; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.” 


The second week of December, 1826, prom- 
ised to be a gala one for music-loving New Or- 
leans. Two new plays were to be performed 
for the first time at the Orleans Theatre: The 


72 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


New Lord of the Village , by Favieres andBey- 
eldier, and An Hoar of Matrimony, by Etienne 
and Delayrac. These were to be followed by 
a one-act vaudeville from Scribe's prolific pen, 
A Visit to Bedlam. 

When the hour advertised for the beginning 
of the performance drew near, every available 
spot was filled by an expectant crowd; it seemed 
that the whole city had turned out to do homage 
to the triple bill. 

A remarkable incident was noted by all and 
commented upon in whispers with pro- 
found amazement — young Dr. Alvez was 
present! For the first time in many months 
he was seen gaily chatting with the ladies, 
exchanging witticisms with their escorts, 
and criticising timely topics. As the even- 
ing wore on, it was observed that he was 
one of the foremost in encouraging meritorious 
artists as well as the first to hiss whenever a 
bad break was made. 

When the curtain fell, Dr. Louis Alvez sud- 
denly disappeared. He had agreed to accom- 
pany certain frolicsome young fellows to a 
midnight supper with several feminine members 
of the troupe, and was eagerly searched for — 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


73 


but in vain. As his carriage was also missing, 
it was concluded that he had gone on a gallant 
adventureVith a dashing soubrette he had vocif- 
erously applauded and clandestinely ogled 
whenever she appeared on the stage. Such 
feats were common among the gilded youth of 
those days and excited very little attention, 
except if it reached the ears of some doting 
mamma or jealous sweetheart, when the cul- 
prit would be severely reprimanded and only 
pardoned on his solemn promise not to sin 
again. Hence, the young doctor’s convivial 
friends having reached the conclusion that he 
was perfectly satisfied, wherever he was, re- 
paired gaily to the festal hall and soon forgot 
all about the absentee. 

* * * * * * 

It lacked a few minutes to midnight. The 
motly crowd which had poured from the Or- 
leans Theatre, half an hour before, highly 
pleased with the plays presented, had sought 
theihrespective homes — except those who made 
it a point, during the Carnival season, to seek 
repose only when night ushered morning. But 
the patter of hurrying feet, the whirring noise 
of the carriages and the indescribable tumult 


74 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


incidental to such occasions, had died away, to 
be revived the next night with the self-same 
abandon and gayety. 

Sixty-four years ago, our principal streets 
were far from being the well-paved, brilliantly 
lighted thoroughfares of to-day. Where arc 
and incandescent lights now dazzle the sight, 
were ungainly oil-lamps, swinging and creak- 
ing from the ends of cross-arms nailed upon 
some convenient tree. As will be surmised, 
this gave a very uncertain light, which was ex- 
tinguished whenever an unusually frisky breeze 
came whizzing around the corners. 

The sidewalks were also very unreliable, be- 
ing merely hardened ashes, oscillating planks 
or — more often — the virgin soil, over which 
pedestrians walked with doleful forebodings. 
People seldom ventured out on foot after sun- 
down, or, if they were compelled to do so, were 
preceded by slaves carrying enormous lanterns. 

On that special night, nearly all the lamps 
had succumbed to the impetuous force of the 
wind. The darkness was intense, objects being 
undistinguishable a few inches distant. Un- 
mindful of this cheerless aspect, a man hurried 
along Esplanade avenue, guided by the feeble 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


75 

rays of a sputtering lantern he held aloft. He 
stumbled several times, but kept on with una- 
bated energy. He soon reached Bourbon 
street, into which he turned, and walked briskly 
forward. When a few feet from Peace street, 
his foot caught in the roots of a tree and he 
was thrown violently to the ground, the lantern 
dashing itself to pieces against the trunk of a 
tree.* With some effort — for the fall had con. 
siderably unnerved him — the wayfarer regained 
his feet and proceeded with more caution, press- 
ing his hand to his side and tottering like an 
aged man. 

Few would have recognized Louis Alvez in 
that lagging figure — the youth who had been so 
sprightly, so joyous, less than an hour before. 
Aye! few could have identified that distorted- 
colorless face to be the erst mirthful countenance 
of the young doctor, whose presence had caused 
so much excitement at the old Orleans Theatre, 

Dr. Alvez had now reached the entrance 
and stood before the frowning walls of St. 
Veronica Convent, which loomed up like a 
fortress. He looked about for a suitable place 
to jump over, and was in the act of attempting 

*A shattered lantern was found at this spot the day after Dr. Alvez’s 
disappearance. G. A. 


76 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


the feat, when a light suddenly flared around 
the Union street angle of the wall. The ill- 
starred lover hastily clambered down and hid 
behind a tree. 

“Some cursed patrolman making his rounds/’ 
he muttered. “Those nuisances are always 
prowling about when not needed.” 

The lantern was rapidly coming nearer and 
Louis apprehensively crouched in the shadow 
of the tree. Just as it was about to pass by, 
the light came to a standstill and he thought 
himself discovered. 

“I can certainly make no tangible explana- 
tion of my presence,” he resumed, placing a 
hand on the butt of his revolver. “I have suf- 
fered too much to be baffled. Good God, how 
my wound hurts to-night !” 

He was about stepping from his concealment, 
when the lantern suddenly leaped into the air, 
described a semi-circle, and forthwith went 
out. A smothered “All right,” came from 
within the enclosure, the gate noiselessly swung 
open, and a white form tripped out. 

“At last, my Popotte !” 

The voice belonged to the swinger of the lan- 
tern. 


YETTA, TkE NUN. 77 

“ How late you are, mon bijou ,” was the rat- 
tling response. “ Come, we must hurry. The 
gay cavalier I was telling you about — Sister Do- 
lores’ beau — will soon be around, and we might 
scare him. He is a good customer, and I don’t 
care to lose him. I wonder how he is going to 
jump these walls, though? If he doesn’t get 
cut to pieces by the broken bottles, he’ll surely 
be caught by one of the traps. Ah, mon cher, 
there will be a sensation worth talking about 
when morning dawns. . . . What are you 

loitering here for? Let us go. Re-light your 
lantern, you clumsy darling! ” 

Louis recognized the French maid’s voice. 
The mysterious manoeuvres of the lantern-bearer 
were now clear: he was her lover, and the twain 
were going off to some midnight masquerade. 
Greatly relieved, the doctor stepped forward. 
The young girl gave a startled cry and clung to 
her companion, who would undoubtedly have 
fled had she not resorted to this stratagem. 

“ Don’t be afraid,” said the intruder, re- 
assuringly. “ I simply want Popotte to unlock 
that adamantine barrier for me. Be quick, 
girl! ” 

Popotte glanced at her lover, who nodded 


78 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


affirmatively without the least hesitation. The 
girl then unlocked the gate and Louis walked 
in. He heard the door creak as it swung 
shut again; Popotte’s ceaseless babbling 
sounded fainter and fainter — he was now 
alone on the forbidden soil. He guardedly 
struck a light and looked at his watch. Twenty- 
five minutes past twelve ! Surely, Yetta must 
be there. He peered eagerly about, but could 
discern nothing. He waited, and soon heard 
the half-hour bell tolling from the convent 
chapel. Still she did not appear. The three- 
quarter bell struck — no Yetta. 

“ It looks as if she wants to defy me,” mut- 
tered Louis, pacing nervously about. “An 
Alvez never retrogrades.” 

He advanced resolutely toward the darksome 
building. A hand was laid on his arm and a 
voice he adored tremulously faltered: 

“lam here, insane boy. Speak lowly or we 
will be overheard and the nuns will kill you — 
kill us both. I knew you were mad enough to 
carry out your threat and obeyed your sum- 
mons. I — I — ” 

She burst into choking sobs. In a second, 
Louis was fondling her in his arms and the 


YETTA, THE NUN. ?9 

beatings of her outspent heart once more con- 
fessed a love which ages could never obliterate. 

They sought a bench near by, lest the nuns 
should overhear them. They sat very close to- 
gether, so close that Louis could feel her warm 
breath fanning his cheek and see her eyes 
shining through the gloom, like twin-stars on a 
radiant night. 

What mad things they must have murmured 
on that fateful night! How blissful they must 
have felt, huddled against each other, heedless 
of the fleeting hours ! It was only when they 
heard the twitter of the birds and saw the dark- 
ness gradually blending with the whitish light 
of morn that their thoughts returned to earth. 

Louis pressed a fervid kiss on Yetta’s lips. 

“ We must now part, my darling,” he faltered. 

The girl threw herself in his arms. 

“ Take me with you ! ” she cried, deliriously. 
“I adore you more than my God — take me away 
from this awful place, which fetters my body, 
but can not restrain the leapings of my heart ! 
Let us seek some remote corner of the globe, 
where you will make me your bride.” She 
stopped short and buried her face in her hands. 
“No, no ! that can never be,” she moaned. “No 


80 


ROMANCES OE NEW ORLEANS. 


priest will marry a nun who has proved faithless 
to her vows. Go, leave me to expiate the wrong 
I did you.” 

She caught his head between her hands, 
repeatedly kissed him, and darted away. He 
sprang after her, but fell back with a groan. 
In a moment, she was again beside him. 

“I tell you we must part,” she wildly ex- 
claimed. “Be courageous, my — is — is this 
blood?” 

“My wound — has — broken — out,” gasped 
the youth. “Kiss — me — farewell, — Yetta.” 

He caught her hand to press it to his bps, but 
it fell from his nerveless grasp. Yetta swiftly 
drew a bejeweled poignard from her bosom, 
ripped open her lover’s garments, and tried to 
stay the flow of blood with her hand. She felt 
the heart-throbs becoming fainter and less reg- 
ular, a slight tremor shook the pain-tossed 
frame — all was over. 

******* 

Popotte returned from her escapade half an 
hour later. She noiselessly slipped in and was 
horrified to see two bodies lying side by side 
near the entrance. Her screams soon aroused 
the nuns, who came trooping out like ghouls 


YETTA, THE NUN. 


81 


and viewed with horrent hair the ghastly 
spectacle. 

As a poignard was found buried in Sister 
Dolores’ breast, it was surmised she had first 
stabbed her lover and then killed herself. 

The bodies were buried within the Convent 
grounds, and to this day the young doctor’s dis- 
appearance has been a conjectural mystery. 


THE END. 

































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LULETTE. 











































































































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LULETTE. 


CHAPTER I. 

The widely-known cotton house of Margins 
& Co. had collapsed. Harold Mouques, who 
had but recently been promoted from clerk to 
chief book-keeper of the seemingly prosperous 
concern, found his air-castles totally demol- 
ished. He naturally felt moody and surly as 
he sat in his drawing-room the morning follow- 
ing the failure, glancing at the schedule of the 
firm published in the newspapers. 

“ I think I’ll take Knouril’s advice and turn 
my back on this city,” he mused, half aloud. 
“ I have a little cash laid aside and I might just 
as well lose it in the Old World.” 

He fumbled in his pocket and took out a 
letter, which he read carefully over. The con- 
cluding lines were thus : 

“India is the best place for investing your 
capital just now. Look at me, for instance. 
Five years ago I came here with very little 


86 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


money; to-day I am the head of a firm known 
throughout the globe. The best thing you can 
do is to join me. I’ll give you a cordial lift in 
memory of old days. John Knouril.” 

Harold smiled contentedly and replaced the 
letter in his pocket. That same week, he 
made up his mind to follow his friend’s advice, 
and before the end of the month was on his way 
to India. When he arrived at Calcutta, he had no 
difficulty in finding the house of Knouril & Co., 
famed throughout the world as dealers in 
precious stones, and was warmly welcomed by 
its chief. 

Knouril’ s prosperous career read like a ro- 
mance. A few years previously, he had sud- 
denly left New Orleans, without even a word 
of parting to his friends. No explanations 
could be given for this strange freak. A few 
months afterward, he had written to his old 
college-mate, Harold Mouques, telling him of 
his arrival at Calcutta and vowing never to re- 
turn to Louisiana. He gave no reasons for his 
action, and, although the friends had regularly 
corresponded since, the mystery remained un- 
solved. 

Shortly after his arrival, Knouril induced 
Harold to buy an interest in his firm. The 


MJLETTK. 


87 


business prospered wonderfully, the two friends 
finally buying out the other partners. 

One morning Knouril seemed low-spirited 
and uneasy, paying little attention to what 
transpired about him. Upon being questioned 
by Harold, he observed : 

“ I had a bad dream last night, old man.” 

“Is that all?” was the laughing remark. 
“You are supersensitive this morning.” 

“ I know it’s womanish of me to be thus, but 
I can’t help feeling rattled. Evil is brooding 
somewhere.” 

“What did you dream about?” 

“ Home,” was the reply, given in such 
pathetic accents that Harold glanced wonder- 
ingly at his friend. 

“You seem surprised at my tenderness,” re- 
sumed Knouril, sadly smiling. 

“Of course I am. I thought you the most 
unromantic man on earth.” 

“I have a heart, Harold. I thought it was 
of marble, but the remembrance of a woman’s 
loving face sufficed to make its old wound bleed 
afresh.” 

“ What in the world are you talking about?” 


88 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Knouril drew a chair near his own and said : 

“Sit here and I’ll tell you all. You are my 
chum, my partner, and ought to know every- 
thing about my life. Do you remember how 
suddenly I left New Orleans?” 

“ Yes, especially when you had but recently 
graduated from the Tulane Medical College. 
Everybody said you were cranky at the time.” 

“Thanks. But let me tell you my story: 
As you may perhaps remember, I intended 
sailing for Europe to complete my studies with 
an uncle in Berlin, who is a man of note there. 
A few weeks before the time set for my de- 
parture, at a ball given at the Theatre de 
TOpera, I met a young girl —the prettiest and 
most enthralling creature I had ever seen. I 
will call her Lulette. It was a case of love at 
first sight. I went wild over her; her eyes 
spoke her heart-thoughts. The day for my de- 
parture drew near. I formulated innumerable 
excuses for postponing same, but father pos- 
itively refused to allow further delay. I in- 
sisted, and finally told him I would not go at all 
if he did not do as I wanted. We are a hot- 
headed family, Harold. When we desire any- 
thing, naught can turn us back. Father and I 


LULETTE. 


89 


quarreled, he struck me — I retaliated. God 
forgive me, but it was not my fault.” 

He bowed his head and a tear coursed down 
his cheek. 

“ The rest is soon told,” he resumed, with 
some effort. “ The incident was carefully 
locked in our breasts and the world never heard 
of it. But I could not endure to face father 
day by da}^ with the remembrance of that fatal 
blow gnawing at my heart. Without even tell- 
ing Lulette — then my fiancee — farewell, I left 
the city of my birth and buried myself here. 
God knows I have suffered enough to atone for 
my sin.” 

Before Harold could frame a reply, a mes- 
senger rushed in and handed him a cablegram. 
He glanced at the superscription and said: 

“It is addressed to you personally, John.” 

KnouriPs face became as pale as a corpse. 

“For Heaven’s sake, tear it open and read,” 
he groaned. 

Harold obeyed. The contents were thus: 

“ Come home immediately . Father danger- 
ously ill . Asks for you. 

“ Marcel KnourilP 


90 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 

Knouril pressed both hands to his forehead 
and moaned. 

“ I knew it — I knew it,” he said, in tones of 
pitiful despair. 

“What are you going to do about it?” asked 
his sympathizing friend. 

“ The steamship leaves to-morrow; so dc I.” 


CHAPTER II. 

A month after Knouril* s departure, his part- 
ner received the following note, hurriedly 
penned : 

“Dear Old Pal: Pardon my reprehensible 
silence. To tell the truth, I am so happy I 
can think of nothing but Lulette. Just think 
of it, old man, we will be married next month ! 
As I want you to dance at our wedding, leave 
the business in the hands of Letimlorn. He is 
competent and reliable in every respect. Fuller 
particulars when we meet. John.” 

“ Not a word about his father,” thought 
Harold. “I presume the old gentleman re- 
covered, but John ought to have curbed his 
ecstacies for awhile to let me know how matters 
stood. Poor fellow! His head is completely 


LULETTE. 


91 


turned by his old love. Catch me getting luny 
just because a woman smiles for me. Ugh !” 

He curled his lips contemptuously and re- 
sumed his office duties. If he could only have 
pushed aside the veil which hides the future 
from mortal gaze ! 

Within a week, Harold settled the most im- 
portant transactions of the firm and had the 
necessary documents drawn up empowering the 
head clerk of the house, Stephen Letimlorn, to 
represent Knouril & Co. without reservation. 
He then took passage on board a steamship 
bound for Havre, which place he reached just 
in time to engage a cabin on the Fleur-de-Lys , 
the champion vessel of the French Transatlantic 
Line, plying between Havre and New York. 

On board the Fleur-de-Lys Harold became 
acquainted with the charming Louisianian, Miss 
Mirelle Arcos, whose final destination also 
proved to be New Orleans. The young people 
soon became fast friends, and, as the voyage 
lengthened — well, it is the same, sweet, old 
story. 

The Fleur-de-Lys was a strongly built, iron- 
plated steamship, under the command of Capt. 
Alcide Ramie, an experienced French navigator. 


92 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


She was the first iron merchant-vessel to cross 
the Atlantic and was considered the safest and 
fastest craft afloat. 

Nothing of note happened until the coast of 
New Foundland was reached, where the vessel 
came upon a water-logged Norwegian barque. 
Capt. Ramie took care of her crew, who were 
nearly famished. The master of the barque 
reported having been wrecked by icebergs and 
warned the seamen to keep a sharp look-out. 

Capt. Ramie burst into a hearty laugh at this 
caution. 

“Icebergs?” he said, contemptuously. “This 
is not a bath-tub. Why, man, we can steam 
right through a mountain of ice as high and 
thick as the Great St. Bernard and come out 
unharmed !” 

A boast which was assuredly monumental, 
but the gallant tar spoke with such earnestness 
that the passengers and crew applauded unani- 
mously. 

The next day and the one following, the ves- 
sel steamed through numberless floes, which 
crashed and bumped against its iron sides. 
Huge icebergs were observed in the distance, 
but no one felt any apprehension. The Flezir- 


LULETTE. 


93 


de-lys was proof against such insignificant 
obstructions and kept on her course unfettered 
by their presence. 

Evening came. A thick mist arose, envel- 
oping the ship in a veil of impenetrable thick- 
ness. As regularly as the ticks of a faithful 
clock, the fog-whistle echoed its notes of warn- 
ing, increasing in tone and frequency as the 
mist became thicker and more chilling. 

“ I’ve never seen such a fog since I've been 
on the Atlantic,” remarked the Norwegian 
captain, as he gazed [ominously around. “ It 
is a bad sign, especially at this season of the 
year.” 

The passengers were all grouped about the 
deck when this remark was made. It had the 
effect of putting a sudden check to their laugh- 
ing chats and each looked at the other in un- 
feigned apprehensiveness. 

“Yes,” continued the speaker, “a ship rarely 
reaches port under such circumstances. I’ve 
been navigating the seas for forty years, and 
know what I’am talking about.” 

He then proceeded to narrate innumerable 
yarns to prove his assertion and recited dismal 
passages from “The Ancient Mariner.” There 


94 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


was not a soul who felt comfortable when he 
concluded. Even jolly Capt. Ramie, though 
he kept on boasting of the immunity of his ship 
from peril, looked ill at ease and paced the deck 
with nervous foot-falls. 

Miss Arcos and Harold remained outside for 
a long time after the other passengers had re- 
tired, listening to the swashing of the waves and 
the groaning of the ponderous machinery. 

It was long after midnight when the lovers 
separated. 


CHAPTER III. 

About half an hour after retiring to his 
cabin, Harold awoke with a start and looked 
wildly about. Everything was tranquil and he 
turned over to resume his sleep. But this was 
impossible. Every moment he would be star- 
tled by some noise or other and would sit up- 
right in bed, fancying that the sea was already 
swirling into his stateroom. Midnight tolled. 
He softly arose, lit a match, and cautiously 
opened the door. All was quiet, He crept 
into bed, but could not sleep. At last, despair- 
ing of mastering his fears, he noiselessly slipped 


LULETTE. 


95 


out of the cabin and sought the sitting-room. 
It was deserted, but a cheery blaze flickered in 
the stove. He lit a cigar and sat beside the 
fire, smoking and dozing alternately. 

“Crash!” 

The huge ship quivered from bow to stern 
and Harold felt himself thrown to the floor, 
stunned, surprised, bewildered. 

“Crash! C-r-a-s-h !” 

A succession of terrific shakings, followed 
by the hissing of steam, the sounding of bells 
and gongs, and the shrill notes of the whistle 
of distress. The passengers rushed out of 
their staterooms and the scene became a verita- 
ble pandemonium. Men and women screamed 
and fought madly for the right of way; chil- 
dren wailed and were trampled unmercifully, 
smothered to death by the very ones from 
whom they sought succor. 

Captain Ramie did superhuman efforts to 
quell the deadly stampede. 

“Stop, you fools!” he yelled. “There’s 
not the slightest danger. We only struck a 
small chunk of ice.” 

But his words were unheeded. He might 
just as well have tried to stop the inflow of the 


96 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


icy waters, which were rapidly gaining the 
mastery. 

“ Flash!” 

The lurid signals of distress illumed the dark- 
ness for a few seconds, tinging the overhanging 
clouds a dull red, death-boding hue. 

“Boom! Boom?” 

The cannons shrieked out their thunderous 
affright, blending their noise with the groans of 
the maddened mass of humanity, which strug- 
gled and squirmed about, hardly knowing what 
they were doing. 

“ Hue-r-r-r-r-r ! Rowr-r-r-r-r ru-r-r-r !” 

The awful notes of the whistle of distress 
stilled the beatings of the quavering hearts. But 
it finally died out. The waters rushed in and 
extinguihhed the fires; men and women fought 
no more, but stood as if paralyzed, awaiting 
their doom. 

“ I’ve been navigating the seas for forty 
years,” Harold heard a feeble voice gasp. “ I 
knew what I was talking about.” 

Just then the vessel gave a lurch, oscillating 
like a boulder about to crash into an unfathomed 
precipice, and the merciless waters swirled 
about her. She stood still for a few seconds, 


LULETTE. 


97 


then plunged beneath the surface, carrying in 
her wake the screaming mass, which despair- 
ingly clung to the creaking timbers, imploring 
in vain to be saved. 

Harold felt himself going down, down, down 
with frightful velocity; then he suddenly 
stopped and was shot toward the surface. He 
deliriously grasped at a floating piece of furni- 
ture, and — 

“ I say, young gentleman, if you are not more 
careful, you’ll overturn that stove.” 

Harold glanced up and met the amused gaze 
of Capt. Ramie. 

“ Where’s Mirelle — tell me, quick — was she 
also saved?” he gasped. 

The old tar looked dubiously at the agitated 
young man and made a dash for the sideboard. 

“ Here,” said he, pulling out a bottle and 
pouring some liquor into a glass. “ Drink this 
and you’ll feel all right. It always demoralizes 
a man to make love on a cloudy night.” 

Harold mechanically swallowed the beverage, 
rubbed his eyes and looked dazedly about. A 
bright fire burned in the stove; at his feet was 
a half consumed cigar. The vibrations of the 
ship’s machinery kept on with the self-same 

7 


98 


ROMANCES OF NFW ORLEANS. 


monotony. The shipwreck was only a dream ! 
He had fallen asleep haunted by the terrors of 
the sea. and his imagination had evolved this 
fantastic nightmare. 

The ship reached New York in due time. 
Harold and his fair protege then took passage 
on a steamship for New Orleans, which place 
they reached without anything unusual happen- 
ing. Having been informed of his friend’s 
coming, Knouril was waiting for him at the 
wharf. Pie insisted on introducing the young 
man at once to his adored Lulette. Remon- 
strances were useless, and, in less than half an 
hour after his arrival, Harold found himself in 
the presence of Knouril’ s ideal, whose beauty 
and sweetness he found had not been exagger- 
ated by his friend. 

It was only when the partners were once 
more alone that Harold thought of John's father 
and asked about him. 

“ Why, didn’t I explain everything to you?” 
queried Knouril. 

“ Certainly not. You raved about Miss Lu- 
lette — everything else was a blank.” 

Knouril burst into a hearty laugh. 

‘‘It was only a scheme to make me come 


LULETTE. 


91) 


back,” he exclained. “Father was at the 
theatre the night of my arrival. He treated the 
whole thing as a practical joke — and here the 
matter rests.” 

Harold gave his friend a heartfelt handshake 
and tli e pair separated. 

A week afterward Lulette and John were 
married. Harold was best man, Mirelle his 
blushing companion. That same night, when 
he escorted her home, he obtained her promise 
that the next wedding at the old St. Louis 
Cathedral would be theirs. 

In May, 1882, Harold and his bride left New 
Orleans for India, which they decided to make 
their future home. Lulette feeling saddened 
at the thought of leaving her native land, 
Knouril abandoned his idea of returning to 
Calcutta and left his partner in full charge of 
the business of Knouril & Co. 

And, following the diction of the dear old 
fairy tales which delighted us in our youths, 
may the lovers live in happiness to the end of 
their lives. 


THE END. 









































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IRRECONCILABLE. 


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IRRECONCILABLE. 


“O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 

Like a swift-fleeting meteor, fast-flying cloud, 

A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 

Man passes from life to his rest in the grave.” — Knox, 


Some sections of the French quarter of New 
Orleans have of late undergone noticeable 
changes. Damp, ivy-twined dwellings, built 
during the Spanish domination of Louisiana, 
have been demolished and handsome stores and 
cottages erected in their stead. 

Many will recall a certain quaint, stately edi- 
fice on Royal street, a few squares from 
Esplanade avenue, which not long ago occu- 
pied the site where a vast dry goods establish- 
ment now stands. The process of demolition 
was commenced about a year ago and now, as 
one admires the elegant building which has so 
rapidly replaced its predecessor, the sudden 
change is always a subject of wonder to him. 

A. few months after the workmen had begun 


104 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


razing the old building, a secret cabinet was 
discovered, in which were several chairs, a 
lounge and two old-fashioned book-cases. 
Everything was deeply covered with dust, and 
when the mouldy rags scattered over the lounge 
were removed, a skeleton rattled to the floor. 
A rusty pistol, with one chamber empty, was 
found near by. The newspapers, too busy 
with the bitter political fight then raging, 
treated the matter lightly, merely mentioning 
the strange find in their local columns. The 
bones were taken in charge by the coroner and 
buried in Potter’s Field. 

The writer not long since had occasion to* 
transact some business with the contractor who 
erected the modern building — a well-known 
Creole gentleman — and was told of the unearth- 
ing of the skeleton. 

“ I always wondered why the press did not 
make a big sensation out of this,” observed the 
narrator. “ I could have furnished them 
startling details, father having told me the 
strange story connected with this old house. 
Many old-timers still recall the crazed father’s 
irrevocable vow and his unexplained disappear- 


ance. 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


105 


When pressed for a full recital, he laughingly 
said : 

“ My dear boy, I’m too busy. Come and 
take breakfast with me Sunday and I’ll unbosom 
myself. ” 

He kept his word and furnished the basis for 
this touching romance, which is given with 

faithful adherence to reality. 

* # * # * * * 

About half a century before the present gen- 
eration was born, there lived in that historic 
Royal street residence a family by the name of 
Mizaine, consisting of father, mother, daughter 
and a spinster relative. 

Major Hamilcar Mizaine was a survivor of the 
Battle of New Orleans, where his gallantry had 
cost him an arm. Having amassed a fortune 
on his sugar plantation in St. Charles parish, he 
had disposed of it at a handsome profit and 
moved to his native place, to live in ease and 
elegance. 

To those whom he liked, the Major was a 
valued friend, but his sensitive nature resented 
the slightest affront. As an illustration of his 
unforgiving disposition, the following incident 
is related.: 

When attending college, one of his profes- 


106 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


sors, vexed by some insolent remark, boxed his 
ears. 

“ I am only sixteen and powerless,” warned 
the furious boy, “ but when I become a man, I 
will make you regret your cowardice.” 

Every one laughed heartily at this bravado, 
but the youth resolutely carried out his threat. 
On the anniversary of his twenty-first birthday, 
he sought the professor, then still in the prime 
of life, and publicly slapped his face. A duel 
followed, in which Mizaine sent a bullet through 
his adversary’s heart. 

The Major’s wife, whose maiden name was 
Pauline Oursblanc, was one of those cold, in- 
different, unapproachable characters fortunate- 
ly so rare among the descendants of the Franco- 
Latin race. She was too indolent to look after 
her sole child, sweet, timid Juanita, and had 
left her in the entire care of her sister-in-law, 
Cecile, who had proved a real mother to the 
girl. 

Amid such surroundings, it was not surpris- 
ing that Juanita did not feel for her parents 
those tender sentiments of love and respect 
which kindness fosters in an immature breast. 
Her father frowned upon her childish demon- 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


107 


strations of joy; her mother never kissed her 
babbling lips or tenderly spoke to her. “Aunt 
Cecile” was the only one in that dismal house- 
hold who seemed to love her, and to her the 
child confided all her joys and sorrows. 

Cecile had given her niece the best precep- 
tors, and at fifteen she was more learned than 
the average girl of the period — for at that time 
the education of women was considered unim- 
portant — and gave indications of soon blooming 
into a beautiful creature. She was one of those 
delightful caprices of nature, a blonde Creole, 
and her pretty face was the envy of her school- 
mates and the pride of her aunt. 

In those days it was customary to marry 
young, and Mme. Mizaine suddenly discovered 
she had a daughter old enough to think of beaux. 
So she nonchalantly remarked one day during 
breakfast: 

“It is time you should think of marrying, 
Juanita.” 

Startled by the suddenness of the question, 
the young girl opened her blue eyes to their 
fullest capacity. 

“Marrying?” she repeated, in surprised tones. 
“Why, I never loved any one!” 


108 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


‘‘Love is nonsensical, child,” was the lym- 
phatic response. ‘‘Had I married for love, I 
would be an old maid to-day.” 

The Major looked up amusedly at this frank 
admission, but said nothing. Mme. Mizaine 
continued : 

“I will give a soiree in a few months to in- 
troduce you to society. In the meanwhile, Ce- 
cile will instruct you how to behave in com- 
pany.” 

Juanita looked apprehensively at her mother, 
afraid to make any observation, and the meal 
was finished in silence. 

On her sixteenth birthday, Juanita made her 
initial bow to society. She had winning man- 
ners, was an excellent pianist, and conquered 
many hearts that eventful night. But her sweet- 
est smiles and most coquettish looks were be- 
stowed upon Senville Faibus, a rich, handsome 
young fellow, who was considered a splendid 
“catch” by scheming mothers. Mme. Mizaine 
smiled encouragingly, for in her eyes Senville 
was a desirable suitor and would undoubtedly 
make a pliant son-in-law. As for the Major, he 
cordially toasted the young man at supper and 
invited him to call as often as he desired — a 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


109 


departure from his usual surliness which elicited 
general wondering comment. 

As the weeks went by, Senville became 
bolder and more demonstrative in his attentions, 
completely routing his numerous rivals. One 
evening, when he had been unusually tender 
and had departed with unconcealed reluctance, 
Mizaine patted Juanita’s blonde curls and 
pleasantly said : 

“This is splendid, my child! I am really 
proud of you ! 

Juanita looked up in speechless amazement. 
Ever since she was a child, she could not rec- 
ollect such a warm proof of paternal love. 

“Yes,” continued the Major, “lam delighted 
with you. Flirt as much as you please, but do 
not go too far.” 

“What do you mean, father?” said the be- 
wildered girl, made uneasy by his caressing 
touch. 

“I mean that Senville can be your toy as 
long as you please, but your husband — never.” 

“Father! I thought you liked him so 
much ?” 

“He is a pleasant young fellow, but you are 
too young to love sincerely. You will change 


110 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


your mind and make him suffer. I watched 
him closely to-night and I know he will adore 
you forever.” 

Juanita cast down her eyes. What could all 
this mean? He was surely jesting. 

“But father,” she ventured, timidly, “I do 
not understand why you do not want us to 
marry. I am old enough to love truly and I 
feel I can never forget Senville.” 

The Major's features grew sombre. 

“I tell you this is all nonsense,” he said. 
“Make him crazy, drive him wild, but bear in 
mind that you can never marry him.” 

“But I do love him dearly, father. How 
can — ” 

“Love has no existence at your age. You 
may suffer a little, but you will forget and be 
happier later.” 

In vain Juanita pleaded — Mizaine was inex- 
orable. Exasperated by the girl's earnestness, 
he finally said : 

“Enough of this nonsense. If you disobey 
me, may my eternal curse rest on you, your 
husband, your children and everything dear to 
you.” 

He walked away in a towering passion. 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


Ill 


Juanita (disconsolately sought her aunt and told 
her all. The good soul consoled her and ex- 
plained what she thought prompted her brother 
to hate Senville. 

“Senville’s father and Hamilcar were class- 
mates and inseparable friends,” she began, ten- 
derly kissing the tear-wet cheeks. “When 
your father was twenty-two, he fell desperately 
in love with Essie Burtel, a beautiful Amer- 
ican girl. She accepted him and everything 
was in preparation for the wedding, when she 
ran away with young Faibus. Hamilcar was 
frantic with grief and rage and vowed revenge. 
Everybody expected a duel to the death, as 
both men were brave and reckless, but your 
father did not seek a hostile meeting. Soon 
after, he married Pauline and his wound was 
thought to be healed. Do you now understand, 
my child ?” 

Juanita arose, her bosom heaving with emo 
tion. 

“Yes, I now see it all,” she said indignantly. 
“Father thought I would jilt Senville, thus pun- 
ishing him for his mother’s falsity. But I will 
do no such thing. He has never shown a fa- 
ther’s solicitude for me and I defy his curse. 
I will marrv Senville.” 


112 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“Juanita!” exclaimed Cecile, alarmed at her 
impetuous words. 

The poor girl threw her arms around her neck 
and kissed the withered cheeks. 

“Dear, sweet, darling aunt,” she sobbed, 
“you are the only one who really cares for me.” 
* # * * * 

A few nights after the above conversation 
took place, Senville found Juanita alone in the 
garden, and confessed his love. She tremu- 
lously told him of her father’s terrible words. 
Senville was dazed. 

“God is too just to hearken to such vows,” 
he said. “If you love me, we will be happy. 
But I do not ask you to disobey your father if 
your heart dictates otherwise.” 

She circled her arms around his neck. 

“Yes, God is too good to blame us,” she 
said, simply. “I love you and nothing can 
- tempt me to make you feel unhappy.” 

He kissed her quivering lips and her anguished 
heart was solaced. 

* * * * * 

The elopement of Juanita Mizaine and Sen- 
ville Faibus created quite a stir in social cir- 
cles. Senville’s parents could give no explana 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


113 


tion to the innumerable questions propounded 
to them and looked upon the affair as “a ro- 
mantic escapade of two young fools.” To 
those bold enough to question the Major, he 
invariably replied : 

‘‘My daughter is dead and buried. I do not 
care to discuss the subject.” 

Two years after their elopement, the young 
people returned to New Orleans, bringing a 
little stranger with them — called by the sweet 
name of Micaela — whose fair face was so much 
like Juanita’s that she needed no formal intro- 
duction to establish her relationship to that 
happy young woman. 

Juanita tried to communicate with her par- 
ents, asking their forgiveness, but her ad- 
vances were repulsed. Cecile was dead, thus 
depriving the girl of the only relative who 
would have welcomed her. 

For three years the young people were very 
happy.. Then came a sudden change. The 
bank in which was deposited the fortune of the 
Faibus family — an institution which had with- 
stood financial crashes for nearly a century — 
collapsed, leaving Senville penniless. It was 
then he felt the glamour of money. Former 
8 


114 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


friends, who fawned around him when fortune’s 
star was in its zenith, now greeted him with 
coldness and arrogance, and refused assistance. 
To support his wife and child, he was compell- 
ed to work with common laborers on the river 
front; but this proved too arduous for him and 
he soon sickened and died. For her child’s 
sake, Juanita wrote a suppliant letter to her 
father. She received the following answer: 

“ You are an impostor. My only daughter 
is dead.” 

The young widow then found employment in 
a manufacturing establishment. One day, sun- 
dry articles were missed, and, being the poorest 
employe, suspicion naturally rested upon her 
and she was discharged. 

“ You may thank your stars we do not send 
you to jail,” said the superintendent, sternly. 
“ The balance we owe you is insignificant to 
cover your thefts, but we will be lenient and 
give you a chance to reform.” 

Poor Juanita ! Her baby — now a prattling, 
intelligent child of six — had been feverish all 
night and she was waiting for her week’s wages 
to buy some medecine and toothsome tid-bits. 
With a despairing heart she sought her wretched 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


115 


home. Micaela’s face became radiant when 
she saw her mother. 

“ I thought you would never come, mamma,” 
she said, caressing the pallid cheeks. “ I’m 
so hungry.” 

Juanita passionately kissed the bright eyes. 

“ And what delicacy does my precious want 
to-night?” she said, laughing boisterously to 
conceal her agitation. 

Micaela was pensive a few moments. 

“ I feel so much like eating nic-nacs and 
milk,” she observed longingly. “That good 
colored woman next door gave me some this 
morning and it did me such a heap of good.” 

Juanita fumbled in her purse and found — five 
cents! Aye, even this simple luxury was de- 
nied the little sufferer. A desperate resolve 
overmastered her pride. 

“I can not allow my baby to die,” she thought ; 
“I will seek father and compel him to take care 
of her. He may have no compassion for me, 
but he must save this innocent life.” 

The air being cool and the weather drizzly, 
she wrapped a shawl around the little fevered 
form and tottered out of the room. 

A grand ball was in progress in the spacious 


116 


ROMANCES OE NEW ORLEANS. 


Mizaine parlors. The Major had just been 
elected to Congress and was honoring his con- 
stituents. As he passed through the hallway 
the door leading into the street cautiously opened 
and an anxious, frightened face peeped in. 

“What the mischief do you want?” he 
gruffly queried, opening the door. 

But he started, for an appealing face was 
raised to him and a choking voice faltered: 

“Have mercy, father ! Your grandchild is 
dying. Abuse me, but save her life.” 

The old man turned as pale as a corpse. In 
spite of her faded dress and emaciated features, 
he had recognized his daughter! For a few 
moments he gazed vacantly at her, unable to 
speak. Then memories of the past surged 
through his brain, and he recalled his fateful 
vow. Recovering his wonted calmness, he 
coldly said: 

“ You have come to the wrong house, madam. 
My only child died seven years ago.” 

He slammed the door in her face and joined 
the impatient revelers. That same night he 
disappeared and was never heard of again. 

The next morning an unconscious woman, 
tightly clasping the dead body of a child, was 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


117 


found by the police in a doorway on Royal street, 
a few doors from Major Mazaine’s residence. 

The unfortunate creature was taken to the 
Charity Hospital, where kind hands ministered to 
her, but aid had come too late and she died 
before sunset. No one identifying her, she was 
buried by the city. 

***** 

The discovery of a skeleton in the old Span- 
ish building clears away the mystery surround- 
ing Major Mizaine’s disappearance. Gnawed 
by remorse, he had sought this secret spot and 
put an end to his misdirected life. This theory 
is rendered irrefutable by the finding of an un- 
loaded pistol near the ancient lounge. 

May God have mercy on the poor bones lying 
uncared for in a pauper’s grave ! 


THE END. 













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V 










































































' 



THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


CHAPTER I. 

At the beginning of this century, in the neigh- 
borhood of that world-famed relic of colonial 
New Orleans, the French Market, there used to 
be an attractive flower shop, presided over by a 
bright-eyed little brunette. She was a charm- 
ing beauty, full of wit and tact, and did a 
thriving business. Although very amiable and 
talkative, she was mysteriously reserved about 
her personality, no one knowing her real name 
or antecedents. To those indiscreet enough to 
question her, she gave evasive answers, and no 
amount of coaxing could induce her to become 
confidential. 

Ernest Fatah was her best and most assiduous 
customer. His heart had been stolen since the 
day those delicate fingers pinned a boutonniere 
for him, but his advances having been coldly 
received, he consoled himself with the thought 
that he could at least see her every morning. 


122 


ROMANCES OK NEW ORLEANS. 


Young Fatah was a reporter on the only 
newspaper then existing in New Orleans — Le 
Courrier de la Louisiane. He was a popular 
sketch-writer and versifier, most of his work 
appearing in the Courrier. 

One morning, he met his ideal as she was 
coming out of the St. Louis Cathedral, and 
smilingly approached her. 

“Do you object to my company as far as 
your residence,” he said. 

“Oh, I am not bound for home,” was the 
disappointing response. “I am simply going 
to visit a sick friend. You may walk with me 
as far as her door, if you wish.” 

Ernest’s beaming features showed the three 
last words to be surplusage. 

“You are a mystery to me Mademoiselle,” 
he said, a puzzled expression on his handsome 
face. “ Once I asked you to tell me a little of 
your life and you seemed unaccountably dis- 
pleased. Why are you so unkind ? You know 
it is not a spirit of curiosity which prompts me 
to—” 

“ Please do not begin again, I entreat you,” 
interrupted the girl, “ I know you are an 
honorable gentleman and I admire your discre-* 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


123 


tion, but I can not tell you more than you 
already know. It is useless to plead Mr. Fatah.” 

The young man gave a start of surprise. 

“ Why, do you know my name?” he said. 

The young girl looked confused, but frankly 
replied : 

“You will pardon my curiosity, but you 
seemed such a quiet gentleman and took my 
refusal to receive you at my house so philo- 
sophically, that I made it a point to ascertain 
your name. It is a habit I have to know who 
my regular customers are.” 

Ernest glanced at her, but she averted his 
gaze. 

“As you know my name,” he convincingly 
said, “would you deem it bold if I asked 
yours?” 

“Not at all, sir,” was the quick reply. “ I 
am Mayoutte, the Creole Flower Girl. I 
thought you knew it. Everybody calls me 
thus.” 

There was such an innocent look in her 
lustrous eyes, Ernest’s rising displeasure was 
dispelled. 

“ I know your given name,” he said, softly; 


124 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ but you surely have another — a family name, 
miss.” 

“ Perhaps I once did, but I do not recall it.” 

“You are jesting. One can see by your 
conversation and manners that you are not 
plebeian. Your answer is incomprehensible.” 

“There are stranger things in this world, 
Mr. Fatah. Were you to know my past life 
you would wonder how I could apparently be 
so volatile and gay. One day I might tell you. 
For the present, I rely on your honor not to 
question me. We must now part, as I have 
reached my destination. Au revoir, sir.” 

Ernest walked regretfully away, more de- 
termined than ever to know the true history of 
this mysterious girl. The next morning as he 
stopped for his customary bouquet, Mayoutte 
seemed less gay than usual. 

“What has happened to the queen of flow- 
ers,” he observed pleasantly. 

Mayoutte pointed to the clouded sky. 

“The sun has not given her its morning 
kiss,” she said laughingly. Then, looking 
graver: “You must not mind me, Mr. Fatah. 
Once in a while thoughts of the past trouble me 
and I grow despondent. To-morrow you will 
find me as of old.” 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 125 

“ If it was not a forbidden subject/’ said 
Ernest, hesitatingly, “ I would ask a few ques- 
tions.” 

Mayoutte glanced into his love-lit eyes, but 
instantly averted them. 

“ Do not look at me that way,” she said ner- 
vously. 

Ernest feigned to be vexed. 

“If even my looks are hateful to you,” he 
stiffly said, “it would be more chivalrous to 
leave you alone. I trust you will pardon my 
intrusion, Miss.” 

He bowed and walked toward the door. His 
ruse was successful, for a detaining hand was 
placed on his arm : 

“ Do not be angry, Mr. Fatah,” was the 
gentle remark. “ I did not mean to offend you. 
You have been too kind to be treated with in- 
gratitude.” 

Ernest saw his advantage and persuasively 
said : 

“Be more friendly, cruel girl. Your bright 
eyes have surely read my heart’s secret.” 

“ Do not talk that way,” said Mayoutte, ap- 
prehensively. “ We might be overheard.” 


126 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“Impossible.” cautioned Ernest. “This 
little corner is too removed from the street.” 

“ It is best to be prudent. When we are cer- 
tain not to be overheard, I will speak fear- 
lessly.” 

Ernest’s heart gave a bound. 

“ This may never happen, unless — ” 

He stopped, and their eyes met again. 

“ I will do as you wish, Mr. Fatah,” said 
Mayoutte, lowly. “ I do not know how it is, 
but I feel so strange when you look at me that 
way. I — I do not like it. If I allow you to 
visit me, will you promise on your honor 
never to speak of love to me, unless I tell you 
to?” 

Ernest looked perplexedly at her. 

“ Do you refuse? It is the only alternative.” 

She spoke firmly, but her voice quavered a 
little. Concealing his almost uncontrollable hap- 
piness, for the girl’s heart-thoughts were mir- 
rored in her reproachful eyes, Ernest indiffer- 
ently said : 

“I agree to respect your wishes, Miss May- 
outte. When may I call? Would this evening 
be too soon?” 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


127 


Mayoutte hesitated and then hastily scrib- 
bled on a small slip of paper. 

“Here is my address,” she said uneasily. 
“Act as your conscience dictates. Please go 
now. I am afraid people will gossip about us.” 

Ernest took the precious document and de- 
parted. But he pondered for a long time over 
Mayoutte’s singular phrase: “ Act as your con- 
science dictates .” He felt he loved her sincere- 
ly and would make her his wife if the story of 
her life proved her to be as pure as he imag- 
ined, and he wondered what she meant. The 
mystery was becoming more bewildering than 
ever, and he felt a pang at his heart when he 
thought how tediously long the day would be. 


CHAPTER II. 

The sun’s last rays were tinting the sombre 
clouds as Ernest stopped before Mayoutte’s 
residence and softly raised the quaint iron 
knocker. The gate being half-opened and no 
one responding to his knock, he walked into 
the garden-path which led to the house and 
looked musingly about. Roses, dahlias, mig- 


128 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


nonettes and bright-colored tropical flowers 
bloomed in the open air, distilling a delicious 
fragrance. As he strolled toward the house, 
the door was suddenly opened and Mayoutte 
appeared on the threshold. 

She was indeed a lovely creature. Of medi- 
um height, slender, with large black eyes and a 
magnificent wealth of chestnut hair, she was well 
calculated to excite admiration from the most 
prosaic. And as Ernest did not even remotely 
belong to this latter class, being a poet and 
dreamer, his state of mind can better be imag- 
ined than described. Mayoutte smiled at his 
confusion and observed : 

“Come in, Mr. Fatah. You will catch cold 
standing on the damp soil so long. You are 
earlier than I expected. ” 

She. seemed so graciously unconscious of 
his embarrassment, that Ernest came to his 
senses. 

“I was admiring your pretty flowers,” he said. 
“I hope you will pardon my abstraction.” 

He took her proffered hand and they entered 
the house. 

Seeing the young girl was so merry, Ernest 


THE CItEOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


129 


did not broach the subject of his visit, but em- 
ployed his time in subtle assaults upon her un- 
defended heart. 

“ I read a very pretty poem by you in the 
Courrier last Sunday,” observed Mayoutte, after 
a pause in the conversation. 

“You are very charitable, I am sure,” said 
Ernest. “ I am delighted to see I had an 
approving critic.” 

“ Oh, I always read your poetry with pleas- 
ure. Before I knew you I always looked for it 
in the Courrier and was disappointed when you 
slighted a number. How is it you always sing 
of love?” 

“It is such a sublime — ” 

But Mayoutte’s warning finger stopped him. 

“Take care,” she said, playfully. “Do 
not venture too rashly on the quicksand of 
poesy.” 

“You are despotic, Miss Mayoutte. You 
push me temptingly near the illusive goal and 
then blame me for falling in.” 

“I spoke of your poetry, sir,” she scoldingly 
responded. 

“ Are you afraid I might become personal?” 

9 


130 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“Yes. I know how impetuous you poets 
are. Once started, an avalanche can not stop 
you.” 

“ But a woman will,” said Ernest, teasingly. 
“ In that case your sex should be more dreaded 
than — than — I should like to know what you are 
laughing at, Miss?” 

“I was just thinking how courageous you 
were, Mr. Fatah.” • 

Ernest bit his lip. 

“ Now you are angry,” resumed Mayoutte, 
apologetically. “ To atone for my offence, I 
will ask you to write a verse or two in my al- 
bum. Poetry is an infallible cure for rebellious 
thoughts.” 

“ Especially when it has a congenial sub- 
ject,” ventured Ernest.. 

They sat around a table and Ernest began 
inditing. Now and then he would glance at 
Mayoutte for an inspiration, but she seemed 
deeply interested in the texture of her dress and 
did not once raise her eyes. At last the poem 
was finished and he placed the open book before 
her. 

“ Read it aloud,” she said. “ It will seem 
nicer.” 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


131 


Ernest read as follow: 

THE POET TO HIS SWEETHEART. 

When your eyes are upturned to my face, hallowed 
love, 

The bright worlds which glimmer so grandly above 
With envy soon fade: 

When your rosy lips part, fondest phrases to tell, 
The harpists celestial their rhapsodies quell 
To listen, fair maid. 

You are sweet as the rose by the South wind caressed 
And your throat is as white as the proud lily’s crest; 

Your heart pure as snow 
Which vigilant guardians of Heaven elude. 

When beside me you sit sorrows dare not intrude 
And woes blissful grow. 

l’envoy. 

Rise, fond tide of my heart, to the being I prize, 

On the billows of Fate, like the sea to the skies, 
When she smiles to my call ! 

Hide thy pale rays, O Sun ! Jealous moon disap- 
pear ! 

Angels, stay with the stars when this maiden draws 
near - 

She is fairer than all ! 

“ It is quite pretty,” said Mayoutte, “ but it 
is only a poetical conceit? You do not mean 
it?” 

“ Of course not,” answered Ernest, deci- 


132 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


sively. “I remember my promise too well to 
be guilty of actually thinking such things.” 

But his looks said otherwise, and Mayoutte 
became once more furiously interested in that 
tantalizing dress. 

“ May I return this book to the mantelpiece?” 
said Ernest, taking this as a pretext "to make 
her look up. 

“ Certainly,” replied Mayoutte, without glanc- 
ing at him. 

He walked briskly as far as the chimney and 
then came back on tip-toe and stood behind 
Mayoutte. She slowly raised her head to see 
where he was and he noticed a tear trembling on 
her lashes. In an instant, she was caught in his 
arms and he was tenderly kissing her moistened 
eyes. 

“Oh, sir, please leave me go ! ” she pleaded, 
struggling to free herself. “What will you think 
of me now ! ” 

“I love you, dearest,” said Ernest. “Tell 
me you care for me.” . 

“No, I hate you,” was the sobbing response. 
“I thought you were a gentleman and extended 
you the hospitality of my home and now you 
insult me ! Our friendship ends to-night, Mr. 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


133 


Fatah. Oh, how you take advantage of 

a lone, unhappy woman ! ” 

She cried as if her heart would break and 
Ernest began to fear she would be overheard. 

“Do not be so cruel,’ ’ he gently remonstrated. 
“I love you and will make you my wife. Say 
you approve me, sweet girl.” 

Mayoutte dried her tears and sadly remarked : 

“You have read my heart and wish to know 
why I can not requite your love. I warned you 
not to think of me otherwise than as a friend, 
but you did not heed me. I will tell you the 
truth, Mr. Fatah. I am married.” 

Ernest’s face became ashy and he sprang to 
his feet. 

“What?” he cried, fiercely. 

But the beseeching eyes calmed his anger 
and he resumed his seat. He hardly gave 
credence to such an astonishing confession. 

“ Mayoutte,” he presently said, “ you are a 
Modern Sphinx to me. You have an attractive 
home; you are endowed with more accom- 
plishments than the average girl of the period, 
yet you are not happy. Another thing which 
puzzles me : Why do you sell flowers when you 


134 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


could easily fill a more lucrative and exalted 
calling ?” 

“Why do I sell flowers?” repeated Mayoutte, 
dreamily. “ I hardly know. 1 like to be in- 
dependent and I find consolation in myflowers. 
They are never unkind, and I love them.” She 
was lost in thought for awhile. “ I was too 
impulsive in judging }^ou, Mr. Fatah,” she re- 
sumed. “ I am to blame. I should never have 
been weak enough to make our friendship 
stronger. But it is too late now and as I do not 
wish you to think ill of me, I will tell you the 
story of my life.” 

“ That is why I am here to-night,” said 
Ernest. “ You seemed so gay when I came, I 
did not wish to make you feel sad by alluding 
to the subject. Tell me all. I am certain 
nothing terrible shadows your pure life.” 

They returned to the sofa and Mayoutte be- 
gan, hesitatingly at first, but becoming more 
confidential as she proceeded: 

“You were right in thinking me of good 
birth. My true name is Josefa de Aillieres. 
My parents still live on our estates in the At- 
takapas and my ancestors, as history has no doubt 
informed you, rendered gallant services to 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


135 


poor France before the Reign of Terror ensan- 
guined her standard. But father fortunately 
escaped the horrors of the Revolution, as he emi- 
grated to Louisiana about 1768, exactly fifty years 
after New Orleans was founded. He married 
a few years afterward. I was his eighth child 
and the only one who survived the terrible 
epidemic of 1785. I lost five brothers and two 
sisters within three months. Three died the 
same day. I was then nearly a baby, but I 
vividly recall that fearful day — those three 
coffins ranged side by side and the grief of my 
parents.* Oh, Mr. Fatah, it was awful !” 

She placed her handkerchief to her face and 
sobbed. Ernest’s eyes were moist and he felt 
a choking sensation in his throat, but controlled 
his emotion and gently comforted the girl. She 
gradually became calmer and resumed: 

‘ ‘Years went by without anything eventful 
happening. One day — about five years ago — 
father brought a stranger to spend a few weeks 
with us. He was a Northern speculator and 
was looking for an investment in Louisiana 
lands. He appeared to be a man of means and 
refinement, was handsome and intelligent, and 


*A historical fact. G. A. 


136 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


I fell in love with him. He seemed very fond 
of me, but father considered me a mere child 
and laughed heartily when I told him the 
Northerner had asked me to become his wife. 

“ ‘ He was making fun of you, you romantic 
little goose,’ he said. ‘Run to your room; 
your dolls are crying for you.' 

“ When I told this to my suitor, he said he 
would speak to father that same evening. He 
did so, but was chilly received. 

“ ‘ I can give you no definite answer, sir, ’ 

I overheard father saying. ‘ I have much 
friendship for you, but I know nothing of your 
antecedents. We old Frenchmen are very, 
strict on that score. You were- introduced to 
me by my broker and I asked no questions, not 
having a marriageable daughter — for Josefa is 
only fifteen. I do not refuse the honor you 
wish to confer upon me, but furnish me proper 
credentials and I will act accordingly.’* 

“I thought this was quite unkind of father, 
my suitor seeming such a perfect gentleman, 
and I admired the dignified way in which he 
took his rebuff. He was sad and pensive when 

♦This may seem odd to the present generation, but it was the laudable 
and invariable rule of the old Creoles not to entertain anybody. Good 
credentials were indispensable. G. A. 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


137 


he met me in the drawing-room and I had not the 
courage to refuse when he asked me to walk 
about the garden with him. He then told me he 
was going in the morning, never to return. He 
loved me, but respected father’s antagonism to 
Americans and did not want to thrust himself in 
a family where he was not liked by all. He 
talked long and earnestly and completely turned 
my head. I agreed to elope with him, and the 
next morning abandoned those who had been 
so kir . to me to please a total stranger. It was 
the usual sequel, Mr. Fatah. He took me to 
Philadelphia, where we lived happily fora year. 
One morning he abandoned me, leaving a letter 
in which he told me I had better go back to my 
parents and allowing me enough money to do 
so. I came as far as. New Orleans, but had not 
the courage to seek those I had so cruelly 
wronged. Alone and friendless, I did not 
know what to do, and so rented this littte cot- 
tage and opened a flower stand. I first felt 
humiliated and was shy and nervous, but little 
by little I accustomed myself to my surround- 
ings and to-day I take my fate philosophically.” 

“Have you never heard from your hus- 
band?” kindly observed Ernest. 


138 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ I do not even know it he exists. You now 
understand why we can not be happy, Mr. 
Fatah?” 

“If your husband were dead,” said Ernest, 
expectantly, “would you. marry me?” 

He read the answer in her tear-wet eyes and 
resolved to do all in his power to bring back 
their happy light. 


CHAPTER III. 

Ernest quietly instituted inquiries concerning 
the de Aillieres and soon secured an introduc- 
tion to that influential Acadian family. Al- 
though he longed to speak of the subject which 
monopolized his thoughts, he deemed it best to 
be patient and observe a little. He had come 
ostensibly to “write up ” the country and seek 
material for character sketches. Being of 
French descent, he was hospitably entertained. 
His affability soon won the friendship of the 
good-hearted people and he was told the odd 
folk-lore and legends of the Attakapas region, 
which he treasured in his memorandum book 
for publication in the Courrier . 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


139 


One evening, after Mrs, de Allieres had 
been unusually reminiscent, she sadly ob- 
served : 

“Our own family has also had its sad romance, 
Mr. Fatah. It is a subject which is never al- 
luded to here, but which still causes our hearts 
to pang.” 

Ernest could hardly restrain his excitement. 

“ Would you think me intrusive if I asked a 
recital?” he said. 

“ Not at all, sir. I have confidence in your 
discretion.” 

She then told him the story of Mayoutte’s 
flight with the Northerner, stopping now and 
then to wipe away a tear. 

“ You never knew what became of the poor 
girl?” queried Ernest, a suspicious tremor in 
his voice. 

“ We did all we could to find her, but to no 
avail,” was the answer. “The wretch who 
wronged us probably killed her.” 

“ No, madam, your daughter is not dead,” 
said Ernest, forgetting his restraint. “You 
shall soon see her.” 

He spoke with such assurance, the old 


HO 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


lady seized both his hands and imploringly 
said : 

“Oh, sir, do notkeep me in suspense? Tell me 
everything, whether good or bad.” 

Ernest obeyed, repeating the story he had 
heard from Mayoutte’s tremulous lips. * * * 

The next day, Mr. and Mr$. de Aillieres, ac- 
companied by the young journalist, left for 
New Orleans. 

There are happenings in our lives which defy 
the pen of the chronicler. However ambitious 
he may be, his ideas become confused and sterile, 
taking life and dying in the same breath. The 
heart beats in unison with the event which affects 
it, the eyes become moist, the bosom oppressed, 
but the romancer’s individuality is lost and he 
imagines himself a real actor in the scene he 
yearns to depict. 

Such were the feelings which overmastered 
the writer when he attempted to portray the 
meeting between Mayoutte and her joyful 
parents. Aye, the pen he wields is not elo- 
quent enough to describe this touching recon- 
ciliation and give life to the expressions of 
unfettered delight which escaped the lips of 
those three mortals. 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


141 


Josefa — for she is no more to us Mayoutte, 
the Creole Flower Girl — followed her parents 
to their Acadian home. At his fervid solicita- 
tions, she consented to correspond with Ernest, 
her parents agreeing thereto. 

A year elapsed. Every five or six weeks 
Ernest would receive a friendly letter from 
Josefa. There were no mail-routes in those 
days, correspondence being carried on by 
means of couriers, and four weeks was consid- 
ered a remarkable feat in the transmission of a 
letter from the interior. What a contrast to the 
present lightning-like mail trains? But this was 
nearly a century ago; one hundred years hence 
an inflated generation will mock what we now 
highly prize and deem indispensable. 

One day Ernest received a cheerful — almost 
loving — letter from Mayoutte, in which was this 
simple postscript: 

“If you can sj>are the time , coine and see 
me .” 

These mysterious words puzzled the young 
man not a little. There was only one solution 
— a personal explanation with the one who 
framed them. As luck would have it, a planter 
from Grand Coteau was returning home that 


142 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


same evening and was delighted to have 
“ somebody to talk to ” during his tedious 
journey. 

Ernest was cordially welcomed by the de 
Aillieres. Josefa did not conceal her gladness 
at seeing him again, and seemed unusually ten- 
der and attentive. In the evening, when the 
family was grouped for a friendly chat around 
the crackling log wood fire, Josefa handed the 
young man a newspaper clipping, bidding him 
to read it. 

“ It was not from your pen/’ she said, in a 
low tone, “but it lightened my sorrowful 
heart.” 

The printed slip read as follows : 

“A letter from Philadelphia to Commagere 
& Co., of this city, brings news of the suicide 
of Warren Proctor, the well known broker. 
Financial ruin is the assigned cause for the 
deed. Deceased was unmarried.” 

“I read that in the Courrier weeks ago, said 
Ernest, calmly. “I see nothing — ” 

But Josefa had risen and stood before him 
with extended arms. 

M He was my husband,” she said, simply. 


THE CREOLE FLOWER GIRL. 


143 


“We can now be happy, sweet love. Are you 
not satisfied to have waited?” 

A kiss was his answer. 


On Conti street, not far from the Mortgage 
Office, this little sign can be seen : 


MORRISON & FATAH, 

LAW AND NOTARIAL OFFICES. 


The junior partner is a grandson of Ernest 
Fatah, the Creole poet and author. 


THE END. 

































































































































































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THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


I.— THE MANUSCRIPT. 

One morning in the latter part of April, 1887, 
I was busily ticking away at my C (digraph, 
when a cheery voice startled me with this re- 
mark: 

“Hello, old man!” 

I looked up and perceived Yates Stinton, my 
college chum and inseparable companion. 

“ Well, what’s up?” I ventured, grasping his 
extended hand. “Don’t stay an eternity in 
expressing yourself, I entreat you ; am tre- 
mendously busy to-day.” 

“ All right, I waive prefatory remarks: Pub- 
lished any stories lately?” 

“ Not a line since November last; too much 
office work.” 

“ Feel like launching a stunner?” 

“ If, I can get good stuff, yes.” 

“ I can furnish you all the material needed, 
having unearthed the strangest manuscript ever 


148 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


brought to light. Come over this evening and 
I’ll show it to you.” 

“ Anything else? ” 

I nervously toyed with the keys of my type- 
writer. 

“You are deliciously polite this morning,” ob- 
served Stinton, giving me a parting shake. “You 
will surely be around, eh?” 

“Yes. So long.” 

“Crick! Crick!” went the cylinder, as I fed 
in a new sheet and resumed work in earnest. 

Seven was striking when I entered Stinton’s 
room that evening, with this query on my lips: 

“Well, where’s that unparalleled phenom- 
enon?” 

“I’ll get it in a minute,” was the answer. 

He opened a drawer of his book-case and 
brought out a roll of paper, which he handed 
me, saying: 

“Just go over those pages and tell me how you 
like the narrator’s style. It is just the sort of 
nonsense you always write about — intensely ro- 
mantic love.” 

I was soon deeply interested in the document. 
For fully two hours I read on, Stinton in the 
meantime smoking and pretending to read, but 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE.. 149 

I could see he was watching the expression of 
my face. I finally laid down the manuscript and 
said : 

“This can make a capital romance, Yates. 
I’ll take care of it.” 

“Do you not think it too immoral?” 

“As it now reads, decidedly.” 

“You will then edit it? 

“Yes, but I will have to wait until Court ad- 
journs sine die. As you know, there’s nothing 
of much importance to do about the clerk’s 
office from June until November and I can then 
devote all my time to it.” 

I again scrutinized the manuscript and ob- 
served : 

“I say, old fellow, where did you resurrect 
this? Judging from its mustiness, I have no 
hesitancy to believe it was brought over from 
the Old Country by DeSoto. ” 

“Found it in an old book store on Exchange 
Alley the other day,” observed Stinton, ner- 
vously drumming with his fingers on the table 
and averting my gaze. “Paid a quarter for it, 
a bargain which seemed to raise a suspicion in 
the book-seller’s mind that I was a crank. He 
had thrown it away as rubbish, and as his shop 


150 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


is luckily never swept out, escaped destruction. 

I read the story, thought it weird and interest- 
ing and reasoned you could weave something 
out of it.” 

“Do you know anything about its history?” 

“Not a syllable.” 

“Well, let it rest. I’ll have all summer to 
work this up. What do you say to a game of 
chess? You annihilated me last Sunday and I 
thirst for revenge.” 

We were soon deeply engrossed in our favor- 
ite pastime, and it was long after midnight be- 
fore we gave the chessmen a rest. 

About a week after my visit to Stinton’s, he 
left New Orleans for Paris, France, whither he 
went with the intention of perfecting his studies. 
It seems to me I still see him waving a regretful 
farewell from the deck of the Villc de Pai'is as 
she steamed into midstream. Poor fellow, I 
wonder if he ever reached his destination? Al- 
though he had promised to keep me faithfully 
posted about his whereabouts, I have never 
heard from him. 

On the third day of July, 1887 — as is the 
yearly custom in New Orleans — the principal 
courts adjourned until November following. 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


151 


There being very little stenographic or type- 
writing work to do, I found myself at leisure to 
investigate the history of Stinton’s manuscript 
and discovered that he had told me a stupen- 
dous fib. The crusty book-seller in Exchange 
Alley expressed unfeigned surprise when I 
broached the subject and could not recollect 
having ever seen a person answering Stinton’s 
description. This, coupled with the latter’s 
unexplained silence, renders the matter still 
more bewildering, and I have been wondering 
to this day what could be his motive in concoct- 
ing such a fable and entrusting me with this 
strange old record. I have of late made a re- 
markable discovery, which, instead of clearing 
away the mysterious haze which surrounds this 
manuscript, renders the matter still more ag- 
gravating — Stinton’s grandmother was named 
Edna Narbour. I will not attempt to theorize 
upon this coincidence. It will avail nothing, 
as the last descendant of the Narbours was 
Yates Stinton. 

II.— CONGO SQUARE. 

On Rampart street, between St. Peter and 
St. Ann, and about five minutes’ walk from 


152 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Canal street, is Congo Square. It is one of the 
prettiest parks in New Orleans, having an ele- 
gant circular fountain in the center and inviting 
shade trees scattered here and there. It is the 
favorite resort of children and their nurses, and 
presents an animated, interesting sight every 
evening — for the weather is never continuously 
cold enough in New Orleans to prevent out-door 
exercise. 

Years ago Congo Square was nearly a waste, 
its tall, rank grass affording convenient hiding 
places for a dangerous, unruly element which 
prowled about at night and rendered the locality 
unsafe for belated pedestrians on Rampart and 
adjoining streets. The footpads became so 
bold and their robberies so frequent, that the 
residents of the Second District organized 
themselves into a mutual protective association 
and subscriptions were raised to reclaim and 
beautify the park. The weeds were cut, trees 
trimmed, shelled walks laid out and lamp-posts 
erected where they would do the most good. 
The thugs and sand-baggers abandoned the 
locality and reopened business in the neighor- 
hood of the Old Basin, where their depreda- 
tions are still narrated with whispered awe. 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


153 


Not long after the inauguration of these im- 
provements, excavations were begun in the cen- 
ter of the square for the building of the present 
fountain. One day a workman was seen to sud- 
denly disappear with a yell of terror, the piled- 
up earth falling after him. As soon as they had 
recovered from their surprise, his companions 
went to his rescue, working cautiously and ap- 
prehensively, and soon came upon his insensi- 
ble body. He was brought back to the open 
air, restoratives were applied and he soon re- 
gained his senses, proving to have been only 
badly frightened, but not hurt in the least. In the 
meantime, his fellow workmen had been inves- 
tigating the cause of the trouble. They came 
upon a small tunnel, which, upon being cleared 
of the debris which choked it, widened into a 
cave about 20 by 30 feet in diameter. In the cen- 
ter was found a heap of bones, presumably a 
human skeleton. Commenting upon the occur- 
rence, the old New Orleans Chronicle editorially 
says : 

“About a year before the breaking out of the 
Mexican War, this city was terrorized by a se- 
ries of mysterious murders near Congo Square. 
The victims were invariably women, who were 
in every instance strangled to death. The police 


154 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


were kept on the alert from sunset to sum ise, but 
the fiend was never captured. Several times he 
was chased and closely pressed, but he seemed 
to vanish into the air as soon as he entered 
the Square. The discovery of the cave ex- 
plains the mystery.” 

From what could be ascertained from the 
musty records on file at the Central Police Sta- 
tion, this cave was used by the marauders who 
then infested the locality to hide their plunder. 
It had long ago been forgotten. 


III.— THE STORY. 

In the year 1845, a Spanish company estab- 
lished a large cigar manufactory in New Orleans, 
the first of its kind to operate upon an extensive 
scale in Louisiana. The general manager was 
one Miguel Zucci, a young man not yet thirty, 
handsome, conceited, and a boasted twirler of 
feminine hearts. Having flattering credentials, 
he was cordially welcomed into the exclusive 
social world of the Southern metropolis. 

Alice Narbour, the belle of the J^iiartier 
Creole and a reputed flirt, resolved to humble 
the arrogant Castilian and make him sway to 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


155 


her every whim and caprice. Her less worldly 
sister, Edna, warned her to be careful in her 
behavior towards the young man, as she was 
afraid the revengeful spirit of his race would 
prompt him to do her harm should he fall 
seriously in love with her. But Alice only smiled 
defiantly and continued to enslave the boastful 
foreigner. 

On a sultry, drizzling evening in June, 1845, 
the sisters were seated near a window of their 
fashionable Esplanade Avenue residence, gazing 
ruefully at the pattering rain. 

“ I wonder if our gallant friend will brave 
the elements?” observed Alice, tracing fan- 
tastic designs upon the hazy window pane with 
her rosy finger. “ I presume he will, Doolie. 
I don’t think a West Indian hurricane could 
stop him.” 

She laughed and turned to her companion for 
approval ; but the latter reprovingly said : 

“You should cure yourself of that horrible 
mania of flirting, dear. No good can come of 
it.” 

“ Bah, you little moralist; there’s no harm at 
all. It is pure, simple fun. If men are foolish 
enough to believe all the nonsense I whisper, 
they are worthy to be duped.” 


156 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ But you go too far. Look at Miguel’s 
case, for instance. I am sure he loves you 
truly.” 

“ Does he? I am indeed glad to hear it. He 
thinks too much of himself and I want to make 
him feel we are his superiors.” 

Edna shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Do as you wish,” she said, “ but I advise 
you to leave him alone !” 

“I can’t, Doolie,” pouted Alice. “ He is 
getting so interesting. I expect him to be at my 
knees before long.” 

Edna took Alice’s hand in hers. 

“ Do not go that far, dear,” she pleaded. “I 
have a presentiment that evil will happen.” 

“ Tut, tut. You are a pessimist. It is true 
he is deplorably conceited, but Miguel is a 
gentleman after all and would not feel offended 
if he found but I was flirting him.” 

Edna sighed and observed: 

“ Keep on, then. But I do not feel at all at 
ease. Miguel comes of a hot-headed, imperi- 
ous race, and I am sure he will allow no girl to 
make fun of him.” 

Alice was thoughtful a few moments. 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


157 


“ Do you think he would do anything terrible 
if I told him I was flirting?” she asked. 

“ I do,” was the decided answer. “ You 
have been too attentive to him.” 

“ What can he do? Do you think he would 
kill me?” 

“ I do not say he will go that far, but he will 
get even some way or other. This life is too 
short to wilfully make enemies.” 

“Miguel my enemy? That would be grand, 
Doolie. It would be so delightfully romantic. 
I think I’ll try the experiment by giving him his 
conge to-night.” 

Edna looked earnestly into her sister’s face. 

“ Do not do that, Alice. You will regret it. 
I have noted the expression of his face when he 
speaks of you, and one can plainly see he loves 
you desperately.” 

Alice sat down on Edna’s knees and passed 
her arms around her neck. 

“ You dear, silly, scolding pet, how do you 
know I do not love him?” she said, in altered 
tones. 

Edna looked into the roguish eyes and dubi- 
ously said: 

“ If you do, I make full apologies. But it is 


158 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


hard to believe. You are too volatile to think 
seriously of anything.” 

“ But I am serious, Doolie. I only want to 
see what he will say and then I’ll consent to be 
his wife. It looks so provincial to fly into a 
young man’s arms as soon as he confesses his 
adoration.” 

Edna glanced at the whimsical girl and said : 

“Act according to your fancy, but be prudent. 
It is a risky thing to trifle with love.” 

Alice’s answer was a cordial hug, and she 
resumed her vigil by the window. 

“ I wonder what can be keeping him away,” 
she observed. “ He is intelligent, and ought 
to know that no other visitors would dare to 
come in such weather. It’s nearly seven, too. 
Ah, here he is. Let him think I am alone, 
Doolie. Run up stairs, and I’ll call you when 
the drama is over.” 

“Just as you wish, my dear,” said Edna. 
“ But mind what I said.” 

She warningly shook her finger and tripped 
up the carpeted staircase. 

* ****** 

Half an hour later Edna came to the head of 
the stairs and peeped curiously below. 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


159 


“ How still they are down there,” she solil- 
oquized. “I wonder what they are doing? 
The gas is not even lit. Miguel couldn’t have 
gone, for Alice would have joined me. Per- 
haps Alice spoke the truth and really loves him, 
after all. He is a good match — a little self- 
loving, it is true, but he is young yet. Girls are 
so funny, anyhow. I’ll just creep to the parlor, 
and who knows if I will not find them hugging 
each other? Won’t they jump, though, when 
I poke my head in!” 

She tip-toed softly down and soon reached 
the parlor. All was silent. She stretched her 
head through the open door, but could not see 
nor hear anything. Beginning to feel fright- 
ened, she said: 

“Alice — Mr. Miguel — where are you? Joking 
aside, I am afraid.” 

No reply. 

“ Oh dear, what can be the matter? Alice, 
speak out. You know how nervous I am. Oh, 
you rascals, I’m sure I’ll find you on your 
favorite sofa !” 

She felt her way to the sofa. It was un- 
occupied. 


160 


ROMANCES OF NFW ORLEANS. 


“If I only had a light,” thought the now 
terrified girl. 

She felt about for the mantelpiece and found 
the match-safe. She eagerly took out a match 
and scratched it against the wall. The phos- 
phorus sputtered, flickered and went out. Not 
discouraged, the trembling girl lit another 
match and, as it finally brightly burned, looked 
searchingly about. As she did so, her eyes 
rested upon the insensible form of her sister. 
Her senses reeled, she gave a piercing scream 
and sank into unconsciousness. 


IV. — MIGUEL ZUCCI’S CONFESSION. 

The subjoined confession, addressed to 
“ Senorita Edna Narbour,” and written in 
Spanish, was found by the editor of this nar- 
rative in a drawer of Stinton’s cabinet. A 
faithful translation is given : 

New Orleans, July — , 1845. 

Miss- — You have always been so kind to me, 
I think it proper to bare my heart to you. Pause 
and think before censuring me. I loved with an 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 161 


intensity which bordered on insanity. I was de- 
ceived * * * The rest all the world knows. 

The papers have been very clamorous about 
my actions lately. The strangling of that beau- 
tiful girl last Tuesday seems to have aroused 
them into a frenzy and the police have increased 
their vigilance. I fear to creep out of my den, 
for detection means the gallows. I prefer dying 
by my own hands. 

I hope you will pardon the breach of etiquette 
I commit in using a pencil to write this. To- 
night I will steal out to mail you this communi- 
cation, but I dare not stir by daylight to get 
writing materials. I am too weak with hunger 
and fever and will excite suspicion. 

But I must hurry. My fingers feel stiff and 
cramped, my eyes burning and misty. 

******* 

Two weeks ago, while the skies were weeping 
and the elements turbulent, I sought the only 
woman on earth I devotedly loved. She met 
me at the door, a smile on her lips, and said: 

“ I was standing at the window and saw you 
coming, Mr. Miguel, and thought I might just 
as well save you further drenching.” 

<k You are very kind,” I replied, my heart 

n 


162 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


wildly beating with happiness; “I thought you 
would give me a lecture for calling in such 
weather.” 

“ O no, far from it,” was the cordial answer; 
“ I would have felt so lonesome all alone in this 
dismal house. Doolie took dinner out and has 
not yet returned, you know.” 

We then entered the parlor. We conversed 
upon current topics, hut our remarks gradually 
became personal. Alice’s head being invitingly 
near, I captured a peeping curl and said : 

“I wish I was the owner of this treasure.” 

Alice made no reply, but cast down her eyes. 
Encouraged, I resumed : 

“ I wish I could also possess something dear- 
er, purer, more sublime — ” 

Alice’s wondering look stopped me. 

“ What are you talking about, Mr. Zucci?” 
she said, with a rudeness which astounded me. 
“ I hate rhetorical phrases. They remind me 
of oriental salutations.” 

“ I will be plainer,” I said, taking her hand 
in mine. “ I love you.” 

“I know you do,” answered the girl, with- 
drawing her hand. 

“ Then why do you elude me?” 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 163 


“Because I do not care for you,” was the 
cold response. 

I smiled incredulously. 

“ You are jesting, Alice,” I said. 

“ No, sir, 1 am not. I was having fun with 
you, that is all. I was told you hated women 
and wanted to see if the rumor was unfounded. 
I see you were courteous enough to make an 
exception in my case. I presume you will now 
say I am a flirt?” 

“ Far from it,” I answered, a tremor in my 
tones. “ If I fostered such a thought, I would 
cease to love and respect you. You are too 
good, too pure, to wound a trusting heart. I 
understand that a man can be h}^pocritical ; but 
a woman — never. You love me, do you not?” 

I passed my arm around her waist and drew 
her to me. 

“I — I don’t, Mr. Miguel,” stammered the 
girl, frightened by m} r impetuous words. “Leave 
me go, sir. It is getting dark and I must light 
the gas.” 

“ Light the gas? Of course not. This would 
spoil the romance of love making.” 

I tried to embrace her, but she struggled and 
ran away from me. Again I caught her and 


164 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


was about to kiss her taunting lips, when she 
angrily exclaimed: 

“ If you are a man of honor, stop instantly !” 

I released my grasp and gazed with frowning 
features into the girl’s face. 

“ Do you really mean this?” I said brokenly. 
“ Is it possible that you have been toying with 
me?” 

Alice seemed stung by my peremptory tones 
and defiantly answered : 

“Assuredly, sir. You are indeed presump- 
tuous to think otherwise.” 

Without a word and before she could make a 
movement, I seized her by the throat. She 
tried to scream, but it was too late. Her eyes 
grew wild and strange, my clutch tightened, and 
my darling’s fair form fell senseless to the floor. 
It was only then that I saw the enormity of my 
crime. But I did not regret it. I had loved, 
she had nurtured my passion, deceived me, — 
I could not help it. 

Pardon me, dear miss, if I repeat that I do 
not regret what I have done. Even now, as I 
stand on the brink of eternity and think of the 
tortures an immortal life may mete to my erring 
soul, I feel happy in the thought that I have 


THE STRANGLER OF CONGO SQUARE. 


165 


slain this false girl. God or the devil, whatever 
be the ruling power where our souls will meet, 
grant that I may have full control of her spirit, 
that I may inflict upon it unceasing torments. 

Miguel Zucci. 


THE END. 
















































































































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1YALA, THE DANCER 


i. 

> / 

“Tonk, tonk, tonk, tonk!” 

The old clock in the banking house of G i- 
zaille & Co. discordantly clanked the closing 
hour; but the sound seemed a melody to the 
tired clerks. 

“Four o’clock, Lightning, ” observed Oswald 
Lepense, playfully tapping Edgar Socsy, the 
the general book-keeper, on the shoulder. 

Edgar smiled good-humoredly, but there was 
a tinge of annoyance in his tones as he remark- 
ed: 

“I can’t explain it, but I’m all tangled up. 
And I wanted to get off early, too.” 

“Let me give you a lift,” said Oswald. 
“I’m through for the day.” 

Edgar accepted. The young men worked 
assiduously and had everything in order when 
the half hour sounded. 

The pair walked home together. The dis- 


170 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


tance being short and the air brisk, they cared 
not to ride. 

“Are you going to the opera to-night?” ven- 
tured Oswald.” 

“No,” replied Edgar. “I promised Paulette 
to bring her to see The Private Secretary at 
the Grand.” 

“You’ll miss a fine treat.” 

“Anything extra?” 

“The star is too hoarse to sing and little Iyala 
will take the role of Carmen — Well, what’s 
the matter?” 

For Edgar had nearly stopped in his walk and 
seemed confused about something. 

“Oh, nothing,” was the calm reply; “your 
cigar scorched my hand and it made me feel a 
little creepy.” 

“I’ll prevent further cremation by smoking 
it,” said Oswald. 

He placed the weed to his lips. It was un- 
lighted ! 

The young man looked searchingly at his 
companion. 

“You must have been dreaming,” he remark- 
ed. “This cigar has been fireless for at least 
ten minutes. There is even no smoke in it.” 


IYALA, THE DANCER. 


171 


“I guess my hand put out the last spark/’ 
said Edgar, uneasily. 

‘‘Possibly/’ replied Oswald, incredulously. 
“If I had such sensitive hands, I’ll keep them 
in my pocket. Well, here’s my shanty. Sorry 
you can’t be around to-night.” 

“ I might drop in during the last act.” 

Oswald dubiously shook his head. 

“ Tut, tut,” he said; “by the time you escort 
your betrothed home and bid her good night, 
everything will be dark around the old French.” 

“Anyhow, I’ll try,” responded Edgar. 

A smile was on his lips, but it was a veil for 
his tumultuous heart. 


II. 

Oswald Lepense and Edgar Socsy were inti- 
mate friends. They had studied side by side 
at Spring Hill College — that historic Jesuit insti- 
tution which has given so many brilliant lights 
to the world— and had both graduated with high 
honors. When they returned to their native 
city they had found employment in the same 
bank and were inseparable co-workers. 


172 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


The season of French opera had just begun. 
Manager Lemaire had brought from Europe a 
delightful troupe, attached to which was a splen- 
did corps de ballet. Mile. Iyala, the premiere 
danseuse , had from her initial appearance capti- 
vated the undefended hearts of the youths and 
baldheads. Among her clandestine admirers 
was Edgar Socsy, who took care that his amours 
were carefully concealed from his fiancee. He 
loved Paulette sincerely and was certain he 
would make a kind and model husband, but he 
saw no harm in having fun with the vivacious 
little dancer. She would be in romantic Spain, 
flirting new admirers, long before his wedding 
day dawned. 

Edgar found Paulette seated pensively near 
the fire when he entered. Her face beamed 
when she saw him. 

“ How late you are!” she said, helping him 
to divest himself of his heavy coat. 

“A little more I would have staved until 6 
or 7.” 

“Another clerk sick? Something is always 
wrong with your old bank.” 

“ No, it was my fault. I got my additions 
all mixed up. Fortunately, Oswald came to 
my assistance.” 


IYALA, THE DANCER. 


173 


“ How foolish of vou ! They say you are 
always so correct and punctual, too. What 
was the matter to-day ?” 

“I suppose I think too much of you,” was 
the whispered answer, followed by a kiss. 

She laughingly threatened him with her 
finger and they sat down for a little chat before 
dinner. 

“ By the by,” observed Paulette, “ did you 
buy tickets for the Grand already?” 

“Yes; here they are.” 

The blue eyes had a disappointed look. 

“ I’m sorry you did. I saw by the papers 
that the French troupe would play Carmen to- 
night, and I am just dying to see it.” 

“ But Mile. Minetta is ill and will be replaced 
by the premiere danseuse .” 

“ Can she act also? I thought she could only 
dance.” 

“Oswald told me she would play to-night.” 

Paulette was thoughtful a moment. 

“I wish I could go,” she said, longingly. 

“It is not too late,” remarked Edgar. “I 
can take a run to the box office immediately af- 
ter dinner and get two parquets. If these are 
not obtainable, we can fall back on \\\z premi- 
eres or secondes .” 


174 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“And what will you do with the tickets for the 
Grand.” 

“Frame them.” 

The girl looked reprovingly at him. 

“No, this would be foolish. We need all the 
spare cash we have to start house-keeping and 
it would not do to squander two dollars so reck- 
lessly. I’ll see Carmen another time.” 

“Just as you wish, my Queenie,” said Edgar. 
“So long as you are satisfied, I have nothing to 
say. Come, here’s the dinner-bell.” 

She took his proffered arm and they sought 
the dining-room. 


III. 

The Private Secretary had been given to a 
crowded house. 

“ Do you regret your outburst of economy?” 
asked Edgar Socsy to his affianced, as they pro- 
ceeded homeward. 

“ No, indeed,” was the response. “ I am 
delighted with the play.” 

An assertion which she proved by making it 
her entire theme until they reached home. The 
lovers then separated, Paulette seeking her room 


IYALA, THE DANCER. 


175 


and Edgar going as far as his own, but silently 
stealing out a few moments afterward. He had 
to keep his word with Oswald. 

Mile. Iyalahad scored an unparalleled success. 
Her acting was voted superb and the young 
bloods went wild over her. 

“ It is evident that her talents do not cling to 
her feet,” whispered Oswald to a companion. 

Edgar found only standing room, but man- 
aged to crowd to the front and was soon satis- 
fied his ideal had noticed him. Yes, she even 
seemed to glance straight at him when she 
trilled her most passionate love songs, and he 
felt more bewitched than ever. 

A private room in the Cafe des Artistes held 
a gay couple that night. For the first time, 
Iyala had consented to honor Edgar with her 
sole companionship, and ere the supper was 
over, had promised to reject other suitors and 
love only him. 

For a few weeks the lovers were happy. But 
slighted rivals became jealous of Edgar’s mo- 
nopoly, and one morning an anonymous letter 
disclosed the state of affairs to Paulette. She 
flushed indignantly at such an insinuation and 
resolved at once to seek her betrothed and hear 


176 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


the truth from his own lips. It was not yet ten, 
and she could never wait until evening with 
such a burden on her mind. 

“A lady wishes to speak to Mr. Socsv,” said 
the janitor. 

Edgar stepped out and was not a little 
surprised to see his fiancee. With much self- 
control she requested a few moments’ secret 
conversation. Edgar bade her enter the pri- 
vate office and she showed him the traitorous 
letter. The young man’s face blanched as he 
read the missive. 

“ Is this true?” asked Paulette, falteringly. 

He made no reply, but gazed stupidly at her. 

“Answer!” she angrily said, grasping his 
arm. 

“ For heaven’s sake, do not make a scene 
here, Paulette,” pleaded Edgar, looking ap- 
prehensively at the door. 

“Pride will not permit me to do so,” was the 
calm reply. “You then admit you have been 
fooling me? ” 

“I — I did not do so to — ” 

“Answer yes or no.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you will see her again to-night?” 


IYALA, THE DANCER. 


177 


“She expects me.” 

Paulette looked her lover full in the face. 

“If you do,” she said, determinedly, “all is 
over between us. I forgive you so far because 
I love you, but if you even speak to that serpent 
again, you may obliterate me from your memory. 
That is all, Edgar. Do not let your face betray 
us.” 

They smilingly left the room, the envious 
clerks craning their necks to catch a glimpse of 
the lovely girl. 

“Socsy is a lucky dog,” said Oswald, in an 
audible whisper. 

Edgar smiled feebly in acknowledgment and 
resumed his duties. But his co-workers re- 
marked he was inexplicably ill at ease as the 
hours sped by. 


IV. 

“Tonk, tonk, tonk, tonk!” 

Edgar roused himself from his reveries and 
gazed vacantly at his open book. His work 
was hardly half finished. 

Oswald, whose chief aim in life was not to 
tarry at the bank as soon as the last stroke of 
T 2 


178 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


four had sounded, reached for his hat, prepara- 
tory to going home. Edgar beckoned to him. 

“ Well, what’s the racket?” was the cheery 
remark. 

Edgar pointed to the blank pages. 

“What!” exclaimed his surprised friend. 
“You may just as well send home for your 
pillow, Slowcoach. I’ve been watching you, 
and I am decidedly glad she does not come here 
every day. Why, how pale you are!” 

“I do not feel well, Os., and want you to 
balance for me. I had better go home and 
rest.” 

For answer, Oswald placed his hat on its 
accustomed peg. 

“ Clear out, then,” he said pleasantly. “Not 
having any blue eyes and golden hair to render 
me idiotic, I’ll post that book in a jiffy.” 

Edgar thankfully pressed his hand and de- 
parted. He did not go home, but sought Iyala 
and explained his predicament to her. 

“We must part, Yola,” he said, regretfully. 
“ I did not want to cowardly abandon you. I 
can not break the poor orphan’s heart. Not 
only would I feel miserable, but the whole 
world will blame me.” 


iYALA, THE DANCER. 


179 


Iyala’s eyes were aflame with anger. 

“ So you really love her?” she said. 

Edgar looked up in genuine surprise. 

“ Of course, Yola.” 

“ Why have you been telling me such lies, if 
you love another? You swore you were faith- 
ful to me.” 

“ But a fiancee is a different thing, Yola,” 
observed Edgar, frightened by her fervid pas- 
sion. “ She will be my wife.” 

“ And I am only your toy?” 

Her red lips curled contemptuously. 

“ Don’t be absurd, Yola,” observed Edgar. 

“You surely did not expect that I would 
marry you.” 

“ I do not care for a priest’s blessing nor the 
stupidities of law. I love you and I intend to 
keep you.” 

“You must be reasonable, Yola. Think of 
the scandal which will burst out if you act un- 
wisely. Old Gizaille is the cream of morality 
and will surely discharge me.” 

There was a baleful look on lyala’a eyes and 
she was pensive a few moments. She presently 
observed : 

“Do you remember the first night I played 
Carmen?” 


180 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Edgar nodded. 

“ Do you recall what prompted Don Jose to 
kill his sweetheart ?” 

“Yes.” 

The dark eyes sparkled dangerously. 

“I always did approve him,” was the calm 
observation. 

Edgar laughed mockingly. 

“The senoritas of Seville are ferocious, my 
dear,” he said. “Adieu, tigress.” 

He bowed ceremoniously and departed. He 
met Oswald while walking down Bourbon 
street and told him everything in confidence. 

“You had better be on your guard,” was the 
parting caution. “I always heard that those 
dark-eyed girls were holy terrors.” 

Edgar shrugged his shoulders and proceeded 
homeward. Paulette welcomed him with cus- 
tomary tenderness. When they were alone, 
she sat nearer to him and said: 

“Have you chosen?” 

Edgar took the cold little hand in his. 

“You are still my queen,” he fondly said. 
“Forgive me.” 

A tear gemmed her lashes. 

“You nearly broke my heart,” w'as the gen- 


iyala, the dancer. 


181 


tie response; “I see you love me dearly, how- 
ever, and make no reproaches.” 

They remained pensive for some time. Paul- 
ette finally observed : 

“I hear that the second representation of 
Carmen takes place to-night. Will you escort 
me?” 

Edgar’s heart throbbed irregularly. 

“I would be very happy to do so,” he said, 
with forced cheerfulness, “but it is impossible 
to get seats. The box office was jammed when 
I passed Verlouin’s music store this evening.” 

Paulette smilingly thrust her hand within her 
bosom and held forth a small envelope. 

“I anticipated the rush and bought those 
since yesterday. Am I not a fine business 
woman?” 

“Indeed you are,” said Edgar, with feigned 
admiration. 

Aye, the Fates were cruelly probing his 
wounded heart. 


V. 

Never before had the role of Carmen been 
played with such fervency. The bravi were 


182 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


continuous and deafening. Iyala’s sinuous 
form swayed beautifully, her voice was loud 
and clear, her aplomb inimitable. 

Pale and restless, Edgar watched her every 
movement. She had noticed him from the 
first and had acted solely to enchain and be- 
wilder him. He felt her glances penetrate to 
the inmost recesses of his soul. Would she be 
mad enough to carry out her threat? No, such 
things only happened in novels. 

The curtain fell on the last scene amid 
tumultuous applause. The vast audience gaily 
filed out, praising the fair young actress. Like 
one in a dream, Edgar followed the crowd, 
making monosyllabic replies to Paulette’s chat- 
ter. When they reached the foyer, he stopped 
to help the girl arrange her wraps. Some one 
touched him lightly on the shoulder. He turned 
around and perceived Iyala, her eyes flaming, 
her hand concealed within the folds of her cor- 
sage. 

“ The senoritas of Seville honor their vows,” 
she said, swiftly raising her arm. There was a 
gleam, a startled cry from Paulette, and those 
who looked back in affright saw Edgar Socsy 
totter and fall. 


183 


IYALA. THE DANCER. 

“Clang! clang! clang!” 

The ambulance rushes through the deserted 
streets. As it dashes around corners and 
rumbles through the narrow thoroughfares, 
loudly sounding its warning, revelers returning 
from the French Opera House pause a moment 
in their laudations of Iyala to conjecture what 
unfortunate is in need of help; but before they 
have collected their bewildered thoughts, the 
wagon of mercy has disappeared in the dark- 
ness. 

“Clang! clang! clang, clang!” 

Cars stop, carriages give precedence, people 
hurry out of the way. 

“ C-l-a-n-g!” 

The crowd presses eagerly forward as the 
wagon stops. The students alight, run up the 
ancient stairway — 

But it is too late. 


THE END. 











































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THE DEATH-ANGEL. 


A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 























































































































































































































































































































THE DEATH-ANGEL. 


A Legend of the. Middle Ages. 


The historical events which furnish the basis 
for this narrative happened centuries ago, when 
civilized Europe trembled with apprehension at 
the frequent impetuous inroads of oriental and 
occidental fanatics, whose inherent belief in 
predestination rendered them fearless of peril. 

It was at that epoch that the Christian kings, 
becoming alarmed at the audacious invasion of 
the infidels, sanctioned the organization of the 
various military and religious orders which 
flourished in the Old World for nearly ,two 
hundred years. These societies worked con- 
temporaneously with the crusades and were 
chiefly instrumental in preventing the standard 
of Mahomet from penetrating into Central 
Europe. 

When the second crusade was organized, 
among those who joined Conrad III, Emperor 
of Germany, in his zealous pilgrimage to the 


188 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Holy Land, was Prince Inwelf, an officer of the 
Imperial Staff. 

Inwelf followed his sovereign throughout his 
unfortunate campaign in Asia Minor. When 
the Christian army was eventually cut to pieces 
by the irrepressible adherents of Noureddin, 
the infidel leader, and forced to retreat, the 
young prince was made prisoner and sent to 
Damascus. His captors being aware of his 
rank, demanded a large ransom. This not 
being forthwith obtainable, the captive was sent 
under a strong escort to an inland town, 
Damascus being adjudged too insecure. 

When about two days’ journey from their 
destination, the escort was attacked by a no- 
madic band of desert pilferers and over- 
powered. Inwelf valiantly defended himself, 
but the odds against him were too powerful. 
He soon succumbed, pierced through the breast 
by a scimitar thrust. 

After assuring themselves that those com- 
posing the escort were either all dead or mor- 
tally wounded, the brigands hurried away, 
carrying with them whatever booty they could 
appropriate. 

As the hours glided by, Inwelf intently 


THE DEATH-ANGEL. 


189 


watched the waning moon. As it gradually 
grew less discernable, a feeling of uncontrolla- 
ble fear possessed him. 

“O Moon!” he cried, almost deliriously, 
“you are the only friend whose face I will ever 
again see on earth. Do not abandon me in my 
last moments. Though your rays are feeble, 
they are a consolation, and I feel less lonesome 
when they linger over me. Do not leave me. 
I am afraid to be alone.” 

As he ceased speaking, it seemed to Inwelf 
that the Queen of Night shone brighter and 
friendlier; but the illusion was momentary, for 
its beams grew fainter and fainter as the min- 
utes sped by. 

6i O Moon ! ” again implored the youth, “ you 
who have so often borne me company in my 
rovings, why do you desert me to-night? If 
you can not stay, send one of your beams to 
keep me company, that I may 'die in your em- 
brace.” 

No sooner were these words uttered, than 
the desert was illumined by a soft, glowing 
light, as if some intensely iridescent object 
were near. Smiling gratefully at the moon, 
Inwelf closed his eyes. He heard a gentle 


190 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


noise and looked wonderingly about. A fem- 
inine form approached. Inwelf saw it was a 
being of exquisite gra'ce and loveliness and his 
whole soul was thrilled with ardent love. He 
made an effort to arise, but sank back ex- 
hausted. 

“ You have called for a moon-beam to bear 
you company,” began the apparition, in a voice 
of delicate sweetness and fervency; “I have 
heard your appeals and have come to silence 
them. Why are you so timorous to-night, you 
who so often fought with undaunted valor? 
Why afraid of the darkness, you who have 
many times gallantly warred, with not even the 
friendly moon-beam to direct your movements? 
Noticing how rapidly your courage was for- 
saking you — seeing how childish you were 
growing, I have come to relieve you of all ter- 
restrial cares, and speed your soul into the 
Happy Land.”’ 

As Inwelf heard those words, his fear and 
astonishment were displaced by a feeling of un- 
defined adoration. Eagerly extending his arms, 
he exclaimed: 

“ Who are you, most beauteous Seraph, from 
whose lips such celestial wisdom flows? You 


THE DEATH-ANGEL. 


191 


have no doubt eluded the vigilance of the guar- 
dians of Paradise, for no mortal has such elo- 
quent thoughts. Now that you are near, death 
has no terrors for me. Oh, how sweet, how 
delightful to die, if one could spend his eternal 
life beside you! You divine well that death 
claims me and have no doubt come to lead me 
into the Invisible Land. Slay me, sweet one ! 
Though I know not who you are, I gladly sway 
to your will.” 

“ Ignorant youth, to speak thus,” was the 
gentle reproof, in tones of argentine cadence. 
“ Have you not heard of the wanderings of 
Nisrilu, emissary of the Death-Deity? Know 
you not that I am timed to visit the earth; tha* 
my mission is to ease anguish? By simply 
touching a mortal, I release his soul from its 
case of clay and his body becomes indifferent 
to the corrosive influence of mundane elements 
— unless a mortal profanes it by his touch, 
when it crumbles into dust. I have sent more 
souls into Paradise than there are stars in the 
firmament. Your death will not be violent, for 
you will be ushered into the realms of immor- 
tality with your features as undisturbed as those 
of a sleeping child.” 


192 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Nisrilu approached Inwelf. Her hand was 
nearly on his brow, when he shrank back and 
piteously cried : 

“ Before you still my frame, most adorable 
Nisrilu, tell me whence you come — speak of 
your past existence. My wound no longer 
troubles me; your presence has proved its 
nepenthe. ” 

“So long as I am nigh,” replied Nisrilu, 
staying her hand, “you shall experience no 
suffering. The indelicacy of your query places 
you in imminent peril and my indignation 
prompts me to leave you to your fate; but you 
are so young, so forlorn, that I will satisfy your 
pardonable curiosity. You are the first mortal 
who has pried into my past life without being 
punished. * * * Listen: More than three 

thousand moons ago, during the caliphate of 
Haroun-al-Rashid, of the dynasty of the Abas- 
sidos, there dwelt near Mecca a venerable 
chieftain named Hiafar. He had for his com- 
panion a young daughter known as Nisrilu, 
reputed to be a rare type of Arabian loveliness. 
Haroun heard of Nisrilu’s charms and com- 
manded Hiafar to send her to his harem. The 
father indignantly refused. Enraged by what 


THE DEATH-ANGEL. 


193 


he considered an affront, the caliph sent a large 
body of men to carry off the child and con- 
fiscate the father’s possessions. Hiafar re- 
sisted and was put to death. As for Nisrilu, 
she never could be found. It is recorded on 
the tablets of Arabian legendary lore that the 
Houris, taking pity on the persecuted girl, 
transported her to Paradise and made her im- 
mortal. Tradition also says that when the 
moon is in its last quarter, Nisrilu is allowed to 
revisit her native land. She seeks the battle 
fields of her race, her mission being to assuage 
the torments of the wounded. Although you 
are a giaour, your features please me and I will 
now lead you into our glorious land. You have 
caused me to tarry so long, that you are the 
only one I can solace to-night. Look, the 
moon’s last beam is dying! ” 

Nisrilu placed her hand on Inwelf’s brow 
and softly caressed him. The youth attempted 
to resist the somnolent sensation which over- 
mastered him and made an effort to speak. His 
lips trembled, parted — but no sound issued. 
Wearily closing his eyes, he felt an irresistible 

languor and sank into unconsciousness. 

* * * * * 

Forty years elapsed between the second and 
13 


194 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS* 


third crusades. During that interval, the in- 
fidels had ravaged Palestine and made the king 
of Jerusalem prisoner. This and other out- 
rages finally aroused the avenging spirit of the 
Christians and another crusade was organized, 
led by the emperor of Germany and the kings 
of France and England. 

After many reverses and a few successes, a 
truce was concluded between the hostile forces, 
the Christian army gaining the advantage. 

On their return from Palestine, while cross- 
ing a particularly arid plain, the remnant of 
England’s brave soldiery, led by Richard 
Coeur-de-Lion, perceived an oasis in the dis- 
tance and eagerly hurried toward it. When 
the king came upon the stragglers, he saw 
them grouped wonderingly about an object on 
the ground. Answering his inquiring look, one 
of his suite observed: 

“ Here sleeps a handsome knight, your high- 
ness. He looks so happy, so tranquil, that we 
wonder why the desert blasts were so lenient 
to him. I fain will awake him, for those 
ghoulish infidels will slay him after we are 
gone.” 

The courtier stooped and laid his hand on 


f HE DEATH- ANGEL. 


195 


the youth's shoulder to arouse him — but he 
merely grasped a handful of ashes. 

* * * * . ■* 

Even to this day, as the weary traveler plods 
his way through the vast solitudes of the East 
and the penetrating dust-clouds beset him, the 
natives reverently remark : 

“ These are the ashes of the happy dead ; 
the work of our beautiful Death-Angel!” 


THE END 





SELECTIONS FROM 


SMILES and TEARS, 


NOW IN COURSE OF PREPARATION. 









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PARDONABLE CURIOSITY. 


They were lovers, though the secret 
Never wholly had been told. 

For she was a roguish maiden 
And reproved his passion bold. 

“ Mother will feel too distressful 
If you carry me away,” 

Pouted she — and ho persuasion 
Could that resolution sway. 

One day he sought consolation 

In wild roamings through the wood, 
And soon came upon a streamlet 

Where the landscape mirrored stood. 
Long he gazed into the waters, 
Laughing, rippling at his feet, 
Thinking of his truant sweetheart, 
Without whom life was effete. 

Soon he saw the cherished outlines 
Of a face delightful, dear, 

Slowly forming, archly smiling, 

In the tranquil waters clear. 


200 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


“ ’T is a vision,” fondly mused he, 

“ Of a face I’ll ever seek, 

And my wounded heart seems solaced”- 
But he stopped, for on his cheek 

He felt the sensation thrilling 
Of a breath like Heaven’s wind. 

And a voice with gladness faltered 
As an arm his neck entwined: 

“ Girls are curious” — and the bright eyes 
Sought again the singing brook — 

“ And I peeped just to discover 

How your future wife will look!” 


THE ANGRY PESSIMIST. 


Heed not what those red lips smiling 
Murmur lowly unto you, 

Nor the look of love enthralling 
Beaming in those eyes so blue. 

Take care that those hands caressing 
Fetter not your heart now free; 

Push away those arms entrancing 
Held forth with such childish glee. 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


201 


Love has but a brief existence 
In that bosom young and fair — 

Has not e’en the frail consistence 
Of the evanescent air. 

Shun that dulcet voice melodious, 
Toy not with that straggling curl — 
Naught on earth is so perfidious 
As this ever-pleasant girl. 

False the tears which gem her lashes, 
False her pensive, downcast eyes; 
And her simulated blushes 

Glow on cheeks where candor dies. 
Obey not those rich lips sentient 
Pouting for a lover’s kiss — 

Ere the sun adorns the Orient 
They will prove to you remiss. 


MY SWEET LULETTE. 

Since from her side she bid me go, 
My sweet Lulette, 

My cheeks have lost their blissful glow, 
Sered by regret ; 


202 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Her pouting lips my thoughts beguile. 
Make me upstart, 

And day and night her cruel smile 
Appalls my heart. 

I know this face which makes me start 
I should accurse; 

For memories dear to my heart 
Hate I should nurse; 

1 know the blush which tints her cheek 
Is falsehood’s seal, 

But when dark eyes pardon seek. 

My senses reel. 

When evening’s glare swift disappears 
Mid shades of night ; 

When glorious Luna coyly peers 
And charms the sight; 

When Philomel trills loud and clear 
In yonder glade, 

I feel that nothing is so dear 

As this false maid. 

This life is such a weary span, 

Why should we grieve, 

And wait till cheeks are withered, wan 
Ere we forgive ? 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


203 


Though I well know she’s wayward, flirt, 
My sweet Lulette, 

Her witchery my soul’s deep hurt 
Makes me forget. 


THE GIRL-SUICIDE. 


The tear-wet eyes no pain disclose, 

The blood-stained breast is freed from sighs, 

The anguished soul has sought repose 
Within the realms of paradise. 

She loved, she sinned — and mercy craved 
From marble hearts who spurned her plea; 

Despairing, lost, adjudged depraved, 

Grim Charon’s arms she grasped with glee. 

The father kneeling by his child, 

A frenzied feeling in his breast, 

With cruel curses once reviled 

Her trembling form with woe oppressed. 

The throngs that scan her girlish face 
And deck her bier with roses sweet. 

In life had naught but thorns to place 
Beneath her wearied, erring feet. 


204 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


Pride in this world so soon is crushed, 

Life so replete with grief and fears, 

Why wait till hearts their throbs have hushed 
To shed regretful, useless tears? 

Thus has it been for cycles past, 

So will it be till mankind dies — 

We seek to ease the lives we blast 
When taunting Death all arts defies. 


ESTRANGED. 


Peace? The word can ne’er be told, 
For the slighted heart is cold; 

Naught but everlasting hate 
In my bosom you create. 

Love? Your cruel wiles have slain it 
And your falsity entombed it: 

Let its grave remain unsullied, 

Let its ashes mould unpitied. 

Go — I see your purpose fell: 

Pardon would you have me tell? 

Pd see you writhe in Hades’ flame 
Ere from your hand 1 mercy claim. 


SMILES AND tears. 


205 


BABY. 

\To Alaster Adolph DeBlauc.~\ 

Hush ! Speak low and softly, step with muffled 
tread — 

Baby is reposing in its cozy bed. 

He is such a rover, plays and screams so 
much, 

That, poor thing, he’s tired — No, not e’en a 
touch ! 

When his eyes he opens you may kisses 
take ; 

Do not now caress him, lest he should awake. 

You ought to have seen him when he came to 
me 

And, his eyes half-closing, sought my arms 
with glee. 

“How much do you love me, darling baby- 
boy ?” 

Asked I, kissing, eating, those plump cheeks 
with joy. 

Swift the little bare arms wide were spread 
apart 

And the wee lips babbled: “Big like Papa’s 
heart !” 


206 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS; 


He can count to twenty, names the months and 

•j J 

years, 

Gets his Papa’s slippers when his step he 
hears. 

He repeats his prayers without troublous aid— 
But is oft in dreamland ere the end is said. 

He is — O, the rascal, see his eyes so blue 
Gazing at us, shining like the sparkling dew! 


TIN-A-FEEX. 


[The odd character depicted below is a familiar type in New Orleans. 
His outfit consists of a small furnace, a few tools and some solder. His 
business is to renovate tin utensils, his outlandish cry being a corrup- 
tion of “ Any tin to fix.”] 


The morning light was dawning fast, 

As through the streets there slowly passed 
A man, who clutched with grimy hand 
A furnace, on which there was penned: 
Tin-a-Feex ! 99 

His eyes were dull, his clothes besplashed 
His face looked like a berry smashed; 

And like a Choctaw’s war-cry rang 
The accents of his deaf’ning twang: 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! 99 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


207 


Through half-oped gates his neck he craned 
And his vocation loud explained, 

In tones which made the house-girls wild. 
And tired mankind’s rest beguiled: 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! ” 

Go pawn your voice,” the newsboy said. 
And lose the ticket, shaggy head, 

Ere with a mud ball you are sprawled.” 

But with a scowl the old man bawled : 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! ” 

O, fiend!” the nervous man complained, 

I wish in Hades you were chained!” 

A fierce light glowered in his eye — 

But still uprose that ceaseless cry: 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! ” 

Meander in this cozy place, 

And with some rye your thirst displace.” 
Thus spake the saloon-keeper sly, 

As nearer drew that startling cry: 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! ” 

* * * ' * * * * 

At dead of night, as clanging fast, 

The patrol wagon rattled past, 

From ’neath a crumbling kitchen stair 
A voice roared through the tranquil air: 

* ‘ Tin-a-Feex ! 9 ’ 


208 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


A maudlin man the guardians bold 
Soon in their grasp did firmly hold; 

Aloft he waved a furnace small, 

On which was writ this mud-stained scrawl 
“ Tin-a-Feex 1 ” 

Upon the wagon’s hardened floor, 

They rushed him to the prison door; 

Then, as the turnkey locked him in, 

He yelled forth with uproarious din: 

“ Tin-a-Feex ! ” 


THE FLEETING IDEAL. 

I. 

As a thoughtful youth was strolling 
Up a scenic Alpine path, 

Under dewy bowers lolling 

To escape the sunlight’s wrath — 
He came to a gurgling fountain, 
From which flowed a torrent deep, 
Leaping swiftly down the mountain 
With a reverberant sweep. 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


209 


As he gazed about, delighted, 

He descried a lovely girl 
On the sparkling verdure seated, 

Toying with a straying curl. 

She was graceful, tall and lissom, 

With eyes of the softest blue, 

And her face, so frank and handsome, 
Mirrored what her pure heart knew. 
’Neath her throat was clasped a myrtle, 
Symbol of love deep and true, 

And a bridal rose did nestle 
In her hair of golden hue. 

And the blood her face was mantling 
As her cherub lips confessed 
To the youth the thoughts ennobling 
Nurtured in her virgin breast: 

“ I am Virtue. 

For long ages 
Have I waited, prayed for thee, 

And on Time’s eternal pages 

Have I traced thy name with glee. 
When thou wert by God created, 

In my bosom Love was born, 

And I knew I would be mated 
To thee one resplendent morn. 


2 10 ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 

I will, sweet one, be as constant 
As the sun which gems the sky, 

And I will my every moment 
Spend in bliss if thou art nigh. 

Come, let those arms sweetly fold thee, 

Let those lips by man unpressed 
Kiss away the cares that shroud thee 
And assuage thy soul distressed. ” 

She stretched forth her white arms fondly, 
Calling him by names most dear — 

But the stoic youth gazed coldly, 

Heeding not her fair lips near. 

Pushing back the bare arms lovely 
Held forth with such witchery, 

Smiling at her girlish folly, 

From her presence sauntered he. 

And poor Virtue’s eyes grew misty, 
Sunbeams shunned the sighing air: 

But the Fates, scorning pity, 

Tolled the tocsin of despair. 

II. 

Soon the youth espied a grotto 
Gaily decked with flowers rare, 

On which was inscribed this motto: 

“ Here dwells Love , the Debonair .” 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


On a couch reclined a maiden, 
Young, voluptuous, sensuous, fair, 
And with lips like roses laden 
With a ruby’s lurid glare. 

Smiling, she bade him draw nearer, 
Smoothed a place for him to rest, 
Plucking leaf by leaf a larkspur 
Which her restless fingers pressed. 

‘Of thy life I was a portion,” 
Murmured she in accents low, 
‘Loving thee with wild emotion, 

In the shadowed long ago. 

While thou wert my ardent lover 
And with joy my being thrilled, 

I thought that my faith w r ould waver 
Only when my heart was stilled. 
But my mood was gay and changeful, 
And another’s arms I sought, 

Giving thee, so proud, disdainful, 

Not a solitary thought. 

Aye, forgive! Entwine your darling 
As in days when bliss supreme 
Sceptred us with sway enthralling 
And made life a radiant dream!” 

Her voice with deep passion trembled 
As those burning words she said, 


212 


ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 


And, with fervency dissembled, 

Drew his lips to hers so red. 

But the unmoved youth repelled her, 
Would not e’en glance allow, 

And with harsh reproaches left her, 
Striding off with furrowed brow. 

With a sob the fickle maiden 

Watched her lover fade from sight; 
But ere stars on high did glisten, 

Others made her sorrow light. 

III. 

Evening’s glare was slowly mingling 
With the shades of nascent night 
As the youth came to a dwelling 
In an arbor hid from sight. 

Muffled strains of music thrilling 

Charmed his soul, erst passive, drear, 
And he heard a sweet voice trilling 
Sonnets fond in accents clear. 

As he stood and raptly listened 
To that soft, melodious voice, 

His eyes with emotion glistened 
AndJie felt his heart reioice. 

HD-83 

With his senses madly whirling 
And a palpitating heart, 


SMILES AND TEARS. 


213 


Entered he the wondrous dwelling, 
Conquered by the chanter’s art. 
Seated where the sunlight waning 
Sent a pallid, fading beam, 

Was a girl with dark eyes shining 
Like the diamond’s dazzling gleam. 
At the stranger archly smiling, 

For a moment waited she; 

Then her guitar idly fondling, 

Weirdly sang this strain with glee: 

“I am Pride. 

A kind thought never 
Found a haven rn my breast, 

And I slay with joy each lover 
Whom my beauty hath distressed. 
Tremble, youth, while sweet I warble 
And with melody enchain 
Heart of thine erst cold as marble, 
Vaunted proof ’gainst worldly pain. 
In my eyes the starlight’s lustre 
Finds a dangerous retreat — 

See, one glance thy heart doth shatter, 
Brings thee, pleading, at my feet. 
Nay, I never will accord thee 
Even momentary joy: 

Foolish youth, I look upon thee 
Merely as a pleasing toy ! ” 


214 ROMANCES OF NEW ORLEANS. 

Eyes aflame with baleful anger, 

Shining, star-like, through the gloom, 

With a taunting peal of laughter, 

Fled she from the scented room. 

Gazed the youth with heart swift-beating, 
As one thralled with sorcery; 

Then, with eager cry upstarting, 

In wild pursuit darted he. 

l’envoy. 

Though this transient world may mould, 
As the countless ages roll, 

What one seeks from man to hold 
Will he struggle to control. 


THE END. 

























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